Bleeding Love
by HedgieX
Summary: Following an incident with Josh, Nikki is hospitalised, and lies in bed wondering why you always end up hurting the people you care most about. Tom sits by her side, but through the guilt and the pain of the past, will they ever admit their feelings? Now complete. Final two chapters are written by Never-Clip-My-Wings-x as an alternative ending.
1. Chapter 1

_Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,_

_War, death or sickness did lay siege to it,_

_Making it momentany as a sound,_

_Swift as a shadow, short as any dream._

_~ Lysander, A Midsummer Night's Dream_

**Quite a hard hitting first chapter, but it will get lighter after this, I promise. There'll be plenty of Nikki & Tom drabble to come in later chapters...**

"Josh, open the door."

Finn, perched on the sink in the boys' toilets, glanced between his English teacher and the unresponsive door. "Miss, you shouldn't be in here."

She just gave him a look.

"I'm going to find Mr Clarkson," he slipped down and disappeared.

The toilets felt too quiet. The taps dripped and the water gurgled in the drain; distant voices chattered in the corridor. The silence between her and the boy she was trying so desperately to connect with, though, stung Nikki, made her feel numb.

"Josh, please."

"I want my dad."

"I know. He's coming – Finn's gone to get him," she leant against the door, heard his heavy breathing, "Can't you talk to me until he's here?"

"I don't know."

"I just want to help you."

He sniffed, "I'm scared."

She'd seen him run in here with his head in his hands, followed by a bewildered Finn. She could hear the crackling of a packet inside the cubicle now, and the truth was she was scared too. "I know, Josh. But it's going to be okay. Just open the door for me."

"You don't understand."

"Explain it to me, then," she could hear her own voice trembling. The woman who, a couple of weeks ago, had been marching children around the yard screaming at them, reduced to a wreck by this boy and his struggle. What was this place, Waterloo Road? What was it doing to her? What was_ he_ doing to her?

"Okay, has someone said something to you?"

"No."

"Has someone hurt you?"

"No."

"Are you ill?"

He sighed.

She supposed that _was_ a bit of a stupid question, even by her standards. She wondered where Tom was; whether Finn had found him yet. Would he come running, worried about his child? Would he just despair even more? They'd always been close, from what she'd heard, but they seemed so far apart right now.

"Josh, all I want to do is help you. I've always helped you, remember? When we went on that jog?" she smiled at the memory, bittersweet, "Come on, sweetheart. Please."

She couldn't remember ever calling anyone sweetheart, except perhaps her dog. He'd been called Teddy. He'd died last year, and yes she'd cried, a lot. She lived alone now. And no, she hadn't had a boyfriend for a while. And no, she was not a lesbian.

She could just imagine the kind of rumours circulating about her at the moment – she remembered when she'd been the one spreading them at her own school as a child. Karma, hey? Everything always came back round, eventually.

"Josh?"

He opened the door, and she almost fell forwards on to him.

"That's it; good boy," she regained her balance and crouched down beside him; he was sitting on the toilet, his feet curled up, "It's okay. Now come on, Josh, just tell me what's going on. It's okay."

"It's not okay."

"What isn't?"

He held out a packet of tablets. She noted the name: the same ones she'd researched on the computer the other day, the ones for Schizophrenia. Every tablet was gone from its hole. His face was pale, his eyes empty.

"Okay, Josh," she pulled him up from the toilet, "Okay. Come on, you need to get rid of them, okay? You need to..."

He looked at her silently.

She pushed him back down beside the toilet, like she was using a puppet, like he was just a game, "Come on, make yourself sick; you need to get rid of the tablets. Do you understand, Josh? You need to be sick."

He shoved his fingers down his throat, and she almost threw up all over him at the sight of a child deliberately doing that to himself. _She'd told him to do it._

She remembered her best friend at high school – she'd been bulimic. She'd been hospitalised eventually, and they'd lost contact. God knew where she was now. Why did life do these things, make everything so hard? Why did she do it to herself?

She took her phone from her pocket silently, gagging.

"What are you doing?" he stood up, wiping his mouth, his hands shaking, his hair damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead, "What are you doing with the phone?"

"I'm... I'm calling for an ambulance, Josh."

"What?"

"An ambulance. To take you to the hospital."

"No, no, I don't need..."

She shook her head, "You're ill, Josh. You've been ill for a while, and I know it's hard to admit that sort of thing, but if you pretend you're fine then nothing is ever going to be solved, is it? You need help, sweetheart."

"I don't."

"I'm sorry," she dialled two of the nines.

Before she could reach the third, he pushed past her in fury, and when she tried to catch his arm he pushed her backwards. It wasn't a hard push, because he wasn't in any state to be strong, but she fell and her head slammed against the side of the cubicle.

She struggled up, and raised a hand to the back of her head where the pain was excruciating. Wet, sticky blood. Tears formed in her eyes, and she wasn't sure if that was for the pain or for the blood or for Josh, who stood frozen staring at her, as though he couldn't believe what he'd just done.

"I'm sorry," he gave a sob.

"It's okay, Josh, just..." she began softly, but he'd already run.

The door slammed, and suddenly it was even quieter than before, and she could barely breathe for the pain. She didn't know how long she stood there, but when the door opened again she was on the floor, blood all over her hands, silently crying.

"Nikki," Tom whispered, kneeling down, "What happened?"

Finn picked up her abandoned phone, pressed the final nine and stepped outside to make the phone call. Tom felt a flicker of pride; he was a good head boy. Then he saw Nikki's face again, stained with blood and tears, and he knew his son had done that.

"I'm... I'm okay."

"You're not," he said, "Can you stand up? We need to get you to the office; there's first aid stuff, and we'll get Michael."

"Josh..."

"Where did he go?"

"I don't know. I tried to... he took tablets..." she sniffed, "I made him throw them up... I didn't know, oh my God, I'm so sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay," he said softly, lifting her up in his arms, pressing a hand to her head to stem the bleeding. She was light, and she smelled sweet. "You're going to be okay. You don't need to apologise – it's not your fault."

"You need... to find him."

"Yeah, I know," he stroked her hair back from her face, carried her out of the toilets, "I know. It's okay."

"Yeah. Waterloo Road. She's got head injuries," Finn was talking into the phone, calmly and yet urgently. Tom gave him a silent nod of gratitude as he passed.

"Oh my God," Janeece screeched as they reached the office, "Michael!"

"I'm... I'm okay."

"Yeah, you're okay," Tom whispered as he laid her down on the sofa, and Michael and Janeece fussed around with first aid kits and blankets, and soft conversation filled the air. He bent and kissed her head. "I'll find him, Nikki, I promise. I'll be back soon. You're going to be okay, just be brave."

"Yeah," she whispered.

Another door slammed. She fell into unconsciousness without struggling.

XxXxX

**For everyone who loves Waterloo Road.**

**I don't own anything, but I wish I did.**

**Please review xx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the reviews for the first chapter :')**

**I've got loads of work to do over the hols, but I'm sure I'll find time to update...**

_Don't tell me the moon is shining._

_Show me the glint of light on broken glass._

_~ Anton Chekhov_

"Nikki?"

"Tom," she mumbled. It hurt to speak. It hurt even when she wasn't speaking, a terrible pain that ate at her heart, made her want to sleep forever.

She reached out a hand for Tom's, not opening her eyes, but the fingers that held hers were bonier than Tom's, the skin rougher. She jumped away from the stranger, sat up and wrapped the covers around herself, tears in her eyes.

"It's okay, Nikki. It's me, Michael. Do you remember who I am? Your boss – you work at Waterloo Road, as an English teacher? You had an accident, you..."

She stopped listening. She knew what had happened, and she knew why it had happened too, although she wished she didn't.

Josh; how was Josh? Why wasn't Tom here with her? Why should he be?

"Is Josh okay?"

"You remember Josh?"

She ignored him, "Is he okay?"

"Yes, he's fine."

"And really?"  
>Michael smiled, "You haven't lost your briskness, then. That's what I like to see – some things won't ever change, will they?"<p>

She lay back down, "Just tell me. What happened, with Josh? What happened after I got here? How long have I been unconscious – what have I missed?"

"Just calm down," he held up a hand, brushed her leg. She shivered. His skin was too rough; it reminded her of her father's, those gnarled fingers touching her. He withdrew his hand. "Nikki, if I tell you what you want to know, do you promise not to get upset? Will you promise me?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

"You've been unconscious for two days. After you fell unconscious at school, the ambulance arrived and brought you here. You..."

"No," she was impatient, wanted the answers without asking the questions, just wanted to know the truth quickly so she could sort out her head, "I want to know everything. What happened at school? Who came with me?"

"Janeece went in the ambulance with you," Michael said quietly, and he saw Nikki's lips fall from a half-hopeful line into a downward arc, "They said they thought you were stable, but you had a serious head injury and they needed to get you there quickly. Tom was still looking for Josh, and I was helping him."

She nodded. It hurt.

"I found him, behind the desk in your classroom," he was speaking even more softly now, like he didn't want anyone to hear; Nikki found herself straining to hear, "He just kept saying _sorry._ He said he hadn't meant to do it. He said he hated himself. Tom came, and we managed to calm him down; Tom drove him to the hospital, and they said he'd been very lucky, and that he needed to be closely monitored for a while. They kept him in overnight; Tom sat with him the whole time."

"Was he okay?"

"Tom?" Michael, for all his insensitivity, wasn't stupid, "Yeah. I think he was just upset – worried. He asked the doctors if that was their idea of _lucky_, his son acting like that, being so out of character. I think he blames himself, you know, for the drugs and everything. It's really hard for him."

"Is Josh out of hospital now?"

"Yeah. At home – his grandma, Tom's mum, has moved in. She kind of took over I think, but maybe that's what he needs; someone to help him, to sort it all out. He... he's struggling, Nikki. We told him he shouldn't be at work, but he wouldn't listen; I think he just wants to forget."

She closed her eyes, and remembered his face when he'd leant over her, when he'd picked her up and carried her to Michael's office. She remembered how scared he'd looked, and how guilty, but he'd still been so gentle with her. Did he blame her? Had he just been hiding it because she was hurt? If she hadn't got involved...

"You haven't missed much," Michael was still talking to her, "The kids were very worried about you; one of the littlies was crying. We had a special assembly, to talk about what had happened – to talk about drugs awareness, because it's all over the school now, and to praise Finn as well."

"Finn. The ambulance."

"Yeah, everyone's very proud of him."

She nodded again, and then wondered why she kept nodding when it hurt so much. She supposed people didn't always learn from their mistakes. "Will you... will you say thank you to him from me?"

"Of course."

"And tell Josh... tell him it's okay?"

"I'll ask Tom to pass on that message," he smiled weakly.

"It wasn't his fault," she insisted, "I pushed him too hard; he panicked. I should have realised he was ill; he was... he was really weird all week, I just... I should've left him and found someone else to deal with it."

"It's definitely not _your_ fault, Nikki."

"If feels like it is."

Michael nodded, "That's a natural reaction."

"I..." she sat up again. She was wearing a backless gown, like the kind her mother had worn when she'd been in hospital. She didn't want to think about that. "I want to leave. I want to go home."

"No, you're not well enough yet, you..."

"I'm fine."

She grabbed her trousers from the chair beside her bed. The shirt lay beside them, freshly cleaned, but the blood hadn't entirely washed off from the sleeves. She took her jacket and slipped it on. It hurt to move her arms; it hurt to move everything. It was like she had to think twice as hard about doing things – her brain wasn't joined to her body.

"No you're not, Nikki. Just lie back down and I'll get someone; they said to find them when you woke up anyway, they need to do some tests."

"I'm fine. I'll be fine; I just want to go home."

"No," he took her arm as she tried to stand up, and helped her lie back down on the bed, "There you go, it's okay."

She felt exposed, his rough skin touching her, like it was burning hot against how cold she was. She didn't want him to touch her; she didn't want anyone to touch her. She just... she just wanted Tom, and she didn't know why, and she didn't want to know why.

"Nurse!" he was calling, and she heard footsteps in the corridor, and tried to stand up again. She ended up on the floor. Other hands pulled her up, helped her back onto the bed, as Michael stood watching, a grimace on his face.

"Get off me," she pleaded.

"Miss Boston, it's okay," one of the nurses pressed her hand against Nikki's forehead, "Just lie still. You hurt your head in an accident a few days ago; you need to stay in hospital for a few days, under supervision."

"I'm fine. I just want to go home."

"Nikki..." Michael stepped forward again.

"Don't! I don't want you to touch me!"

"Okay, sir," another nurse took his arm and guided him out of the cubicle, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave now. Just wait in the relatives' room; I'll be across in a few minutes to talk to you."

Nikki watched him go, and she saw the pained look on his face, and she felt guilt wash over her again. It wasn't his fault; she knew that, and she knew what happened to Josh wasn't her own fault too. But that didn't mean she didn't feel like it was.

"Can you tell me how you're feeling, Miss Boston?"

She shook her head. Realised tears were running down her cheeks, and turned away. She'd been in the army, once; she'd been strong, and brave. She hadn't suffered fools gladly – she'd been in control, and she'd been respected for it. Look at her now.

"Miss Boston?"

"Just leave me alone."

The nurse took a step away, "Okay. I'll leave you to calm down. I understand this is very hard for you – you need to think about what's happening. I'll be back in a few minutes, okay, and we'll take things slowly? Just don't try anything in the mean time."

Nikki, left alone again, rolled over and sobbed into the pillow.

XxXxX

**I really, really want an English teacher like Nikki. Actually, I just want _her_ as my English teacher, full stop. *begging eyes* Please?**


	3. Chapter 3

_Cowardice and courage are never wi__thout a measure of affectation._

_Nor is__ love._

_Feelings are never true._

_They play with their mirrors.__  
>~ <em>_**Jean Baudrillard**_

**Thank you so much for the reviews, they made my day. Particularly the one from _Riona_, which was the longest and sweetest review I've ever received :')**

**I've had some amazing English teachers too, who changed my life... *remembers, misses them* ...but never one like Nikki!**

Michael frowned as his colleague sat down beside him, "You shouldn't be here."

"Josh is fine now. Back at school; he was so bored by the end of the week he was practically begging for some homework."

"It can be arranged."

Tom smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes, and they both knew it.

They sat in silence for a moment, watching the headlines scroll round on BBC Breaking News. _Teenager stabbed after standing up to gang, _it said. _Three hospitalised after taking drugs. _It was such a small world, sometimes, that it frightened Tom.

"You still shouldn't be here," Michael reached for the remote and flicked channels. An old movie flashed onto the screen. He didn't want to know about the chaos in the world at the moment; not when Waterloo Road was already causing him enough worry. "You're not as young as Josh."

"You're wasted here," Tom said, "I think you should've been a copper, with deduction skills like that."

"I'm serious, Tom."

"Yeah, I know. But I'm fine, really."

"Okay," Michael shrugged.

Tom lifted his glass of water and took a sip. Really, his head was throbbing due to a combination of factors – worry, insomnia, guilt – but he wasn't going to tell his boss that. Sometimes you had to keep quiet for the sake of other people, and of yourself.

He could see his reflection in the glass. His eyes were dull, lacking colour, and his skin was pale too. He wished he could just fall asleep, and never wake up. But people were relying on him; Michael needed him to work again. Josh was relying on him to be a good father, and make up for what had happened before.

"How's Nikki?"

"Fine."

"You don't sound... very convinced?" Michael said softly.

Tom put his glass back down and raised his eyebrows. He didn't have to say anything – he knew Michael would be able to see through any pretence today.

"You said you were going to see her, Tom."

"I know. And I was. And I will."

"But?"

"But..."

Michael sighed and turned the television off, "Tom, I know it's not going to be easy for you. Nothing's easy in life – we all have to do things we don't want to do."

"I do want to see her," Tom shook his head.

"Well, what's stopping you, then?"

"It's... I don't know."

"I suppose you feel guilty. For what happened with Josh. But she said it herself, and I'll say it too, Tom – it wasn't your fault. She tried to help him; she didn't have to. I know it will be awkward, seeing her, but you want to, don't you? She was asking for you, when I saw her. She got a bit upset with me – you know, I don't think she really is _fine_."

"What's wrong with her?"

"I," Michael began, then raised his head and smiled as Sian entered the staff room and waved in their direction, "Morning."

"Morning. Hello, Tom. Doing okay?"

"Yeah, thanks," he nodded.

"I just saw Josh; he seems a lot better."

"Yeah, he is."

"I'm glad."

Sian filled her mug with coffee granules and hot water, stirred it around with a spoon and left the room, evidently realising that Michael and Tom needed to talk. They were a good bunch, generally, the staff at Waterloo Road.

"Nothing, really," he shrugged, "We talked about you and Josh – she said she forgave him, and to say thank you to Finn for calling the ambulance. I think the doctors were pleased with her progress, too."

"Why did she get upset with you?"

"I just... I just think it overwhelmed her a bit, talking about what happened. It shook her, Tom, what happened. I'm not sure she's as tough as she makes out."

Tom stood up and walked over to the sink, pouring the rest of the water down the drain. The truth was, whenever he closed his eyes, whenever he tried to move on, all he could think about was Nikki. Carrying her along the corridor, her hoarse breath against his arm, her eyes flickering shut.

"What did she say, about me?"

"Nothing, really. Not directly."

Since she'd arrived, there had been something between them. He wasn't sure what. Perhaps it was just the fact that they were both teachers, and both passionate about their subjects, or maybe it was more than that.

Nikki had seemed to care, beneath her briskness and sarcasm; she'd seemed to care about her students and her colleagues. About Josh, and about him too. He couldn't describe how that knowledge made him feel.

Tom stared down into the sink, "And indirectly?"

"She wanted you there, Tom, with her. She said your name when she woke up, the first time. She asked me to go home – she got upset when I tried to talk to her. She just..." Michael paused again, "It's been a week Tom; she's been awake five days, and I haven't been since the first time. I know Sian rang her a couple of days ago, but..."

Tom knew what that pause meant, leaving the sentence hanging in the air like that. Michael wouldn't say it, but he would imply it, if he felt like he needed to. _She must be lonely. She must think no-one cares. She must think __**you **__don't care._

"I should... I should be going to class."

"Yeah, of course," Michael stood up too now.

"I... I'll see you later."

Tom wandered through the school to his classroom, murmuring good mornings at regular intervals to staff and students he met on the stairs and in the corridors. When he reached his classroom, it was mercifully empty – there was still ten minutes to go until the start of lessons.

He took his phone from his pocket. He deliberately hadn't given her his number, but he'd got hers from Janeece a few weeks ago, for _work purposes_. He was just playing a game with her really, wasn't he? It wasn't fair.

He scrolled through the numbers. Nate, Nathan, Neve, Nick.

Nikki.

It just looked so plain, there. Nikki. He forced his finger to press the screen, enlarge the contact: call, message, delete. He'd compromise, he told himself; he'd text her. That way... well, what? That way he could be a coward, and not have to hear her voice, or have a proper conversation? That was just like him, wasn't it? Avoiding everything until it was too late.

He hit the dial key before he could change his mind, and the drone of the ringing soothed his thudding heart.

One ring. Shit, what was he doing? Two, three, four.

Was she actually going to pick up? Maybe she'd got his number too, and she was deliberately ignoring him she blamed him? Seven, eight, nine.

Or because he'd hurt her so much this week, leaving her alone?

Ten. Nikki answered on the tenth ring.

XxXxX

**I'm actually quite enjoying writing this story, which is a bonus, considering the stories I write for outside of FanFiction normally just depress me so much I delete two hundred pages...**

**Continuing my quote-at-the-beginning-of-each-chapter thing, not sure why, I just enjoy quotes. Suggestions?**

**Any ideas for plot developments, tell me. Any compliments or criticisms, tell me too – I savour both. Although possibly compliments more ;)**

**Please review xxx**


	4. Chapter 4

_Trust me__n and they will be true to you;_

_treat them greatly and they will show themselves great.__  
>~ <em>_Ralph Waldo Emerson_

**Thanks for the reviews. I'll try and include more Josh for _amber'xx _next time, and_ TheGoth_: well, I'll just have to see what happens with Nikki and Tom getting together!  
>Back from my holidays now, after this one could be a while before I update again because I've not written any more yet, but I'll try...<strong>

**This is really great; I'm learning loads of new quotes. I love quotes almost as much as I love Amelia Bullmore. *watches Scott&Bailey and Twenty Twelve excitedly***

**Official hash tag on Twitter: #TomAndNikkiGetItOn ;)**

_Ten. Nikki answered on the tenth ring._

"Hello?"

Tom couldn't find his voice, for a moment. He understood now why he hadn't wanted to ring her, understood that it was true. He didn't want to hear her voice; he didn't want to hear her pain.

"Hello?"

"Hello," he said.

"Who..." she paused, "Is that Tom?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

He waited for her to hang up. Or perhaps start screaming at him down the phone. She did neither, but she didn't speak again – she was waiting for him to be the brave one this time.

He thought this was worse, the new edge to her voice when she'd said_ oh_. Like how he'd always been more afraid of his teachers being disappointed than angry; it hurt more, because it went deeper.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"It's not."

Why was he arguing with her? Did he want her to stop pretending and tell him it wasn't fine? That it was all his fault – that she'd never forgive him, that he didn't deserve to have Josh as a son?

Questions. So many bloody questions. He didn't even want the answers.

"How are you?" Nikki asked.

He couldn't really describe her emotion; her voice sounded crackly, but perhaps that was just the phone line. "Shouldn't it be me asking you that?"

"How's Josh?"

"He's okay. He's doing well – he's back at school again today. I think he just wants to start again now, and move on from what happened."

"He'll be fine. He's a good lad."

"Yeah. I know."

They both fell silent. Tom closed his eyes against the glare of the sun through the window, and saw her lying limply in his arms. He opened them again. He could hear background noise on the other end of the line; chattering, buzzing. She was still in hospital, then. A week, Michael had said. It all seemed a blur.

"Are you at school?"

Why was she making all the conversation? "Yeah."

"You sound tired."

"A bit. How's your head?"

She made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, "If it was up to me, fine. According to them, not fine. Depends who you want to listen to, really."

"You, of course."

"Right."

He could almost hear her smile. He liked that image, of her lips curved upwards, of her trying to hide her amusement, but failing.

"Tom..."

"Yeah?"

"They said they'd discharge me tonight."

He smiled, nodded. Then realised how stupid he was. He remembered when Josh had phoned him as a little boy, when they were apart; his son had never understood why his daddy couldn't see him nodding. The memory brought tears to his eyes, because of everything he'd gained since then, and everything he'd lost.

"Tom. Are you there?"

"Yeah, sorry. That's good."

"But..."

He realised she wanted to ask him something; he could hear the reluctance in her voice, the reluctance to plead for help. He understood that – he was a proud man himself, and didn't like to admit he needed a hand, but look where that had got him with Josh.

Sometimes you just had to trust people, let them show you they cared.

"What? Is there something I can do to help?"

"I just... they won't discharge me unless..." she paused, took a deep breath, "They want me to stay with someone for a while, just in case – they won't discharge me unless there's someone there to make sure I'm okay. I just wondered if..."

Tom really hated it when people implied things. Like Michael, implying Nikki would be lonely and frightened, but not actually saying it. Now Nikki, implying that she wanted his help.

Why didn't she just come straight out and say it? If she wanted his help, she had to be brave enough to ask for it, didn't she? He was a hypocrite, he knew, but he really hated cowardice, just because he knew what it could do to a man.

"No, it doesn't matter. It was a stupid idea," she spoke into the silence.

"No," he sighed, "I... of course you can stay with me, if you'd like to."

"You don't sound very... convinced?"

_Of course I don't sound very bloody convinced._ "It's not that – I just thought it might be difficult for you. You know, with Josh? He's doing well, but he's not... I'll be at work all day anyway; don't you need somewhere quiet to go, but where someone can look after you properly?"

Her voice was icy, "Where do you suggest?"

Michael: no, no way.

Sian: she had Jez, and the children; she was kind, but she couldn't afford to be that kind, and something told Tom the women didn't get on brilliantly anyway – they were like chalk and cheese.

Janeece: oh God, how desperate would you have to be?

He opened his mouth, but he saw what she meant. If she was asking him, it really meant she had no family or friends outside of work either, didn't it? Was this supposed to be a confession that she didn't have anyone else to care?

"It's okay, Tom. I understand – you've got enough on your plate. I was stupid asking; selfish." she said, and her voice had thawed, but her tone sounded artificial, like she was desperately masking her emotion, "It doesn't matter – I'll... I'll be fine. I'll sort something out."

"No, I didn't mean..."

"You did mean it."

Why were there so many questions, whenever he thought of Nikki? Questions he didn't want the answers to, but also questions he _prayed_ for answers to. Who was she, really? Why did she hurt him so much, yet still draw him in? Why did he care?

"Nikki..."

"Tell Josh... Tell him I'm glad he's feeling better."

"I will, but..."

"You should get some rest too. You can't look after him if you need looking after yourself. Will you tell Michael thank you for the card as well? It really..." her voice trembled, "It really made me feel better."

"Nikki, I'm sorry I didn't..."

"It's fine. I'll see you sometime."

"Nikki..."

She hung up before he could finish his sentence. Everything seemed to be like that with them, leaving so many sentences unspoken, ending so many words with ellipsis. He hadn't even apologised properly; she'd pushed away his words. She didn't want to hear them, and she didn't want to forgive him.

He lay down his phone and put his head in his hands. The guilt was fluttering in his stomach again, his heart still thudding although he'd passed the nerves. He kept seeing her face, her hair mangled with blood, her shirt crumpled.

Her eyes. Coloured like the sea, blue and green swirling infinitely. Pleading with him to help her; struggling not to shed tears in a combination of pain and angst.

"Tom?" a hand touched his shoulder.

"Yeah. I'm fine," he sat up, brushed Sian away.

She didn't look convinced, "Go home, Tom; sleep, eat. There is no point in you being here like this. I'll arrange cover for your lessons – if you're better, you can come back tomorrow. I'll bring Josh home after school – and if there are any problems, I'll call you. Is that okay?"

"Yeah," he wiped his eyes, "Thanks."

"It's not your fault, Tom. What happened."

"No, I know."

"Okay," she stood up from perching on his desk, gave him a concerned smile and left the room.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and followed her out, loading the directions to the hospital on his phone as he walked.

XxXxX

** Is it just me who thinks this story is going downhill?**

**Oh and by the way, can someone please explain the meaning of the word SHIP to me? As in the version that doesn't involve a boat? I have an idea, but I'm still learning my jargon for fanfiction ;)**

**Please review xxx**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you so much for the reviews, they honestly made me so happy!**

**I'm not sure when chapter 6 will be up; I wrote almost the entire chapter and then went 'what the hell am I doing?' and deleted it all, so...**

"_A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart, and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words."_

"Morning, Josh," Michael called along the corridor.

"Hi, Sir," he gave his head teacher a half-smile, then ducked into the library and sank down at the nearest computer.

He liked it that people cared. He was grateful to Michael for giving him another chance, when he really didn't deserve it. But he hated the looks that people gave him in the corridor, like they might be infected with evil if they touched him.

His dad said they were hypocrites. He'd told him that everyone made mistakes, and that as long as he learnt from them then everything would be okay in the end. Actually, quite a lot of people had told him that recently, but his dad was the only one whose opinion mattered to him now.

"Hey, Josh?" Lauren leant over his shoulder, "Come and sit over there with me and Finn."

"I have work to do."

"No, you don't."

He'd been avoiding his friends too, since the incident. It wasn't that he wanted to avoid them, or that he blamed them for anything, because he didn't. Without Finn, he might not be alive right now. It was just that it was hard to open up to them; everything was hard for him at the moment.

"Okay," he followed her across the room grudgingly.

"Alright, mate?" Finn asked.

"Yeah."

Lauren seemed to understand his nerves, "All we want to do is help you, Josh. If you ever need to talk to anyone, you know we'll be here for you, right?"

"Or if you want to play footy," Finn continued.

He nodded, "Yeah. Thanks."

When people that he didn't know looked at him as though he were evil, it hurt, but it didn't stay with him; they were just strangers, and they didn't matter. However, when he considered Finn and Lauren, or any of his other friends, treating him as though he deserved to be punished for what he'd done, it made him want to curl up in a ball and be trampled down into the ground.

Finn nudged him, "Saw your dad earlier."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. He looked tired. Is he... I don't know, is he okay?"

"I suppose so."

Lauren leant back against the sofa, fiddling with her hair. Both boys looked at her, and she sighed, and gave them a small smile, her eyes lying on Josh. "You know, he was really upset about what happened? He feels really guilty. He thinks he's been a bad dad."

"He hasn't."

"No, but he thinks he has."

"Maybe you should talk to him? You know; make him see you don't blame him?" Finn shrugged.

Josh glanced between them. They both watched him with concern, as though frightened he was going to hit them like he'd hit Nikki. He hated this more than the stares he got in the corridor; they were acting as though they'd planned the entire conversation, as though they were discussing him behind his back.

What did his dad have to do with them? He was just their teacher – how did they have any idea if he felt guilty? Why did they have to get so involved in his life, when all he wanted was to put what he'd done behind him and move on?

"Josh..." Lauren began.

"Stop telling me what to do," he stood up and spun around to face them, his eyes flickering with anger, like flames were dancing inside him, "I don't need you to lecture me."

"We're not; we're just trying to help."

"Enough people are trying to help. Everyone is going on about trying to help – Mr Byrne keeps giving me those looks in the corridor, like he cares, and my dad bought me a pizza, like that shows how much I mean to him. I thought the adults would do that, and treat me like a little kid, but you're supposed to be my friends!"

Finn stood up too, and lay a hand on his shoulder, "Josh, we are your friends. Calm down, mate."

He took a deep breath, forcing himself not to push Finn away like he so desperately wanted to. He had to calm down, like he was told. _Calm down._ "I've got work to do."

"Josh, don't..." Lauren stopped as he stormed back to his computer and turned away from them again.

He logged on quickly, just because he had to keep doing something with his hands, and the school intranet flashed up. He scrolled down, scanning the notices to students.

_As you might be aware_, one of the paragraphs said, _Miss Bolton is in hospital; there was an accident at school last week, and she suffered head injuries._

An accident? Josh found that rather ironic. Accidents were things like falling down the stairs, or cutting your finger on a potato peeler. Being pushed over in the toilets whilst trying to help a druggie student did not constitute an accident in Josh's book.

_Miss Bolton is doing well, and hopes to go home from hospital soon; she wants to thank you all for your support._

He supposed Michael had written this. It was all the usual stuff you said at a time like this, wasn't it? But who had been supporting her? This morning he'd overheard someone say they didn't want her to come back, because lessons were much more fun when she wasn't shouting at them the whole lesson. They didn't sound like they were joking, either.

He knew his dad had been avoiding talking to Nikki. He'd seen the missed calls on his phone, and a couple of texts Tom had quickly hidden away: _how's Josh?_ She'd kept asking how he was. That was the most ironic part of everything; he'd hurt her, and yet she asked how he was. He felt as though everything he'd ever known had been turned on its head; the world was foreign to him.

_We ask you all to keep her in your thoughts whilst she recovers._

Nikki hadn't left his thoughts ever since he'd woken up in hospital. After his mum, he'd never really trusted another woman – he'd had Rose to look after him for a while, but she'd generally been focused on Sam. Nikki had felt different the second he'd met her; she'd actually cared. He'd hurt the only woman who'd actually cared.

Apart from the guilt that gnawed incessantly at his heart whenever he remembered what he'd done, he knew it wasn't just her he'd hurt. Deep down, when he considered it, he knew Finn and Lauren were right: other people were suffering too. Tom loved Nikki, and by hurting her he'd hurt his dad as well.

"Josh, mate, you have to talk to us," Finn was talking behind him again, "You can't just hide away forever."

Lauren leant on the back of his chair, and he felt the coolness of her fingers even through his school shirt, "Do you want to go down to the canteen and get some food or something? We could talk down there."

"No!" he couldn't calm himself down this time; he jumped up and ran towards the exit, "Just leave me alone!"

In the doorway, he stopped dead. His cheeks flushed, and he raised a hand and scrubbed vigorously at the tears that had begun to fall down his cheeks, but she'd already seen.

"Hello, Josh," Nikki said softly.

You could run and run, and ignore what was staring you in the face, and pretend things would sort themselves out. But Josh knew, at that moment, that the longer you denied the truth, the harder it got, and the deeper you became buried in lies.

The longer you hid from the real world, the more it hurt. One day, you had to deal with your mistakes.

XxXxX


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm not sure there's anyone reading this story that hasn't already _Never-Clip-My-Wings-x'_s story, but if you haven't, you need to go straight away and read it, it's called _Burning Love_ and it's absolutely amazing *gets all fangirly AGAIN* xD**

**The whole 'Nikki' or 'Nicki' debate still lives on – I tweeted Heather Peace and Waterloo Road to ask them, but neither replied, so if anyone has any idea please tell me! Or I'll check the credits tonight... yay, it's TONIGHT! ;)**

**Sorry for babbling. Here we go...**

**Chapter 6:**

"_We need never be ashamed of our tears."_

_~ Charles Dickens_

"Drink this," Nikki pushed a mug of coffee across the table towards him, her eyes carefully trained on the floor so she wouldn't have to look at him. Everyone was a coward, sometimes, however brave they seemed. "You look as though you need it."

"Thanks."

"How are you doing, then?"

Josh shrugged a shoulder.

"The medication helping?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you all this stuff?"

She laughed weakly, "Possibly."

When they'd met in the corridor – when he'd been running from his friends – all he'd wanted to do was fall into her arms and cry. Everyone had been watching, though, and Nikki had been holding her handbag in front of her, almost like a barrier between them.

She had a perfect reason to be scared of him, he thought; he could've killed her. Somehow it hurt so much more than the stares in the corridor, though, because he wanted her to trust him so much, and he knew he'd ruined any chance of that.

"Miss, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Josh."

"It's not okay."

She nodded, not surprised by the anger in his voice, "Well, no, I suppose it isn't. I suppose this is very hard for you. I just meant I'm fine – you don't need to apologise."

Somehow, he felt like he wasn't apologising just for hurting her, but also for the other things: how she'd been so loving towards him and he hadn't appreciated it, how she'd been left alone in hospital because of Tom.

"I do. I'm just sorry, okay?"

"I know you are."

She looked up for the first time, and he realised tears were welling up in her eyes, coating her eyelashes like glittering mascara, highlighting the pain of her expression.

He must have shown his shock, for she looked down again, and her hair fell over her face, hiding her from the world.

"Miss?"

"I'm sorry too."

"Miss..."

"Can you just stop calling me that?" she asked softly, "Please? I don't feel as though I'm worthy of that title at the moment."

Josh wrapped his hands around his mug, inhaled the rich chocolaty smell. It made him feel sick. They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the chatter all around them in the canteen; it seemed ironic, with everyone else so happy, and them so sad.

He could hear peoplemuttering about him too – people he'd thought were his friends, once. Only he wasn't sure he had any friends, because friends were people you trusted, and he couldn't even trust himself now. They were pointing at Nikki too, and smirking. They could laugh at him all they wanted, but he wouldn't let them laugh at her.

"What are you looking at?" he snapped, standing up, stepping towards them, "What's it got to do with you?"

"Josh," Nikki pleaded.

He sat back down again, just because it seemed so out-of-character for her to be begging for something; he'd thought she was stronger than anyone.

"How's your dad?"

"Lauren and Finn reckon he feels guilty or something."

"I think he does."

Josh shrugged again, "It's not his fault."

"It doesn't matter if it's his fault or not. He loves you, Josh, so much – he might not show it, but I can see it just in the way he talks about you – he doesn't want to see you suffering."

"When you love someone, you feel responsible for them."

"What?"

"My dad said that."

Nikki pointed to his drink, and he lifted it up and took a hesitant sip. It felt warm in his mouth, gently trickling down his throat.

He looked at her again, "Does my dad not know you're here?"

"No. No one does. I don't think I'd be here if they did."

"Isn't that, like, trespassing or something?"

"No, I work here, remember?" she smiled, but her lips fell into a grimace, "At the moment."

"I thought you still had to be in hospital, anyway?"

"I told you; I'm fine."

He pushed the mug back across the table towards her, not speaking. _You look as though you need it_, she'd said. So did she; she looked awful. Hypocrite.

"Thanks," she drank some, passed it back.

"Are you alright, Miss?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You look..." he sighed, "You look ill."

"Thanks, Josh."

He wasn't entirely sure whether she was grateful for his concern, or being sarcastic – her voice was too muffled to tell. He knew why she hadn't told anyone she was here; they'd force her to go home, not because they didn't want her here, but because she was ill.

"You should be resting."

"And you sound like the doctor."

He rolled his eyes, "No, really."

"Josh, you know... you know I forgive you, don't you? For everything that happened – really, it's okay?"

"If you say so."

Josh watched Nikki silently through his fingers. He knew she was in pain; he knew what it was like to be in pain and to try to hide it, for the sake of the people who cared.He didn't care if he sounded like a doctor – she should be in hospital. Why was she so frightened of admitting the truth?

And why was she here, with him? Not with his dad, or Michael, or sitting in her classroom marking books. Maybe she understood that he needed her forgiveness. Or maybe she felt too ill to work, and thought that Michael would force her off the grounds because she wasn't fit for school. Maybe she knew Tom would turn away when she needed him the most.

_When you love someone, you feel responsible for them._

Josh supposed he loved Nikki.

XxXxX

"Mr Clarkson?"

"Hello, Lauren. Oh, Finn, too?" Tom dropped his pen and brushed his pile of papers to one side, gesturing inside the office, "What have I done to deserve this?"

"We just..." Lauren glanced across at Sian.

Sian smiled, "Do you want me to go and get a coffee?"

"It's about Josh," Finn said.

Tom stood up and moved around to sit on the front of his desk, giving them his full attention. He'd made too many mistakes with Josh, brushed things aside as he had his papers. He needed to face the truth, for everyone's sake.

"See you in a minute."

The door closed as Sian left, giving Tom an understanding nod. He realised subconsciously that he quite liked Sian; she was always there for anyone who needed support. She was a constant in Waterloo Road, where everything moved so quickly.

However, Sian had Jeremy and the children, and the warmth he felt towards her was friendship and nothing more. He hadn't felt as though he'd_ loved_ anyone for a long time; he'd been too afraid. He was a coward, really.

"Sir?" Finn prompted.

"Sorry. Go on. Has he done something wrong?"

Lauren shook her head, "He's just been acting weird."

"Weird how?"

"You know the whole Schizophrenia thing?"

Tom nodded, "Has he been taking his medication?"

"Yeah, I think so. It's not that kind of weird. It's just like... well, I guess it's kind of a big thing to get used to, and he's been really angry with us – he doesn't want to talk to us about it."

"Give him time, Lauren."

"But..." she paused. Her unspoken words hovered in the air.

Tom could see she was uncomfortable talking to him, felt as though she was betraying Josh, but evidently it was more important to tell him than to worry about Josh's feelings. Finn was here, too – he and Tom hadn't always got on, but he'd been a good friend to Josh recently. They were both truly concerned, he realised.

He knew, deep down, that his son had been 'acting weird'. He'd told himself it was a big step, that Josh needed to get his head around it, but he knew that the cracks in their relationship were growing; Josh was distancing himself further from the people who loved him. If he kept denying it, he was hurting himself and Josh.

"Okay. Thank you, Lauren. Finn. It's good to know he has friends who'll support him," he gave them a half-hearted smile, "I'll speak to him. Just give him time, though, yeah?"

"Yeah," Finn agreed, but neither of them moved.

"Is there something else?"

"Well, he got a bit freaked out in the library; he was trying to run away from us, and he..."

The door burst open, and Sian's head appeared around the frame, her eyes expressing shock and fear, "Tom."

"What? Is it Josh?" he noticed the glances passing between Lauren and Finn, "Do you all know something I don't? What did he do when he left the library? Sian, what's happened?"

Sian stepped into the room and gave Lauren's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then indicated the exit, "Tom, come on. It's Nikki."

XxXxX

**Sorry, I know this was awful, but believe me, it's better than the first attempt. Please review :') xx**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you ****so much for the reviews – I love you all :')**

**Three**** things I am not happy about:**

**a) It's **_**Nicki**_**.**

**b****) Tom and Nikki weren't even in a scene together, except the one where she got punched, which I missed because I was busy texting complaining to my friend about c) –**

**c) Josh not being mentioned at all, not even 'how's Josh?'**

**But then I iPlayered it, and he gives her that look before she walks off like he wants to go after her, and I was like squealing and...**

**Sorry.**

'_An illness is like a journey into a far country; it sifts all one's experience and removes it to a point so remote that it appears like a vision.'__  
>~ <em>_Sholem Asch_

Tom pushed through the hoards of squealing children gathered in a ring around the centre of the canteen, crouching down by Nikki's side. She was huddled up against the bench, her head in her hands, oblivious to the scene she was making.

"Nikki," he said softly, trying to force the trickle of fear out of his voice, and failing, "It's okay."

Josh was crouched down on her other side, holding her hand, talking softly to her. Sian had emerged behind Tom; slowly, at her command, the crowds were filtering out of the hall to their classes.

"What the hell are you doing here, Nikki? They said they weren't going to discharge you from the hospital – they were still worried. Even if they have, you should be at home resting."

Sian bent down, handed him a glass of water for Nikki. He wondered where she'd got that from, and how she remained so calm. "Don't shout at her, Tom."

"What happened, mate?" Tom asked Josh.

Josh didn't look up until the only two students left were Lauren and Finn, hovering uncertainly. "She came to the library, then we came here to get a drink. I said I was sorry, for... She said she was sorry too, and she looked proper ill – I said she should be in hospital or something. She said I sounded like a doctor, and she wanted me to understand that she forgave me."

"Okay," Sian reached out to touch Josh's arm, but he jerked it away. She just nodded. "It's alright, Josh."

She supposed the conversation between himself and Nikki was flashing through his head now, the words repeating over and over; he'd be wondering why this had happened. When people were scared, they questioned things, and blamed themselves.

"Do you need an ambulance?"

"No thanks, Finn," Tom said, "Just give her a few minutes."

"She just... she said we should go somewhere else, because everyone was looking at us, talking about me hurting her and stuff," Josh continued, "Then she stood up and she kind of cried, and..."

Lauren fiddled with her tie nervously, "Josh, we should go back to the library and finish that work you needed to do earlier."

Nikki raised her head, "Stay, Josh. Please."

Silently, Sian led Finn and Lauren from the room, leaving only Tom and Josh crouched down on either side of Nikki. Tom blinked back tears before meeting Josh's gaze, and he saw his son's eyes were damp too. They weren't really so different, in the end; they both had compassion.

"What's wrong, Nikki?"

"I... I didn't want to stay in that place any more," she lifted her head and laid it against Tom's shoulder instead, but she didn't drop Josh's hand, "I'm sorry. I just wanted to see you."

"You should've called me."

"I know."

Tom raised a hand tentatively, stroked her hair back from her eyes. There was no blood this time, but the images of carrying her from the toilets were carved into his mind; her eyes were the same, frightened and pained and desperate.

"I've just got a headache. I'll be fine."

"Do you want to go to my office? I think we should get the school nurse to check you over, even if you won't go back to the hospital."

She nodded, "Can we just stay here for a minute?"

"Of course."

"Thanks."

"Why were you so desperate to get away from the hospital, anyway? They treated you alright, didn't they? I know the food's awful, but didn't Sian smuggle you some chocolate?"

"You think I'm overreacting?" she asked.

"No. I just wonder if running away was justified."

Nikki reached into her pocket and took her phone from it. She held a hand over the screen as she unlocked it – so neither Josh nor Tom could read the code she typed in – then showed them her screensaver.

"Is that you?" Josh smirked.

"Yeah."

"Who's with you? Is it your family or something?"

"Yeah, that's my mum and dad," she nodded, "And that's my sister. She was a couple of years younger than me – my first ever memory is going to visit my mum in hospital after she was born. We were always really close; I looked after her."

Tom's hand still lingered on her arm; he could feel her trembling beneath his fingers, and he wanted to do something to calm her, "Were? You're not any more?"

"No. She died."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"I..." Josh glanced between them. He didn't want to hear this – he didn't want to see the pain in her eyes. "I'm going to the loo."

"Okay, son."

Nikki stared down at the floor between her legs, lost in thought for a moment as Josh left them to it, then looked up into Tom's eyes, "She was ill for a long time – she... well, her baby daughter was killed in a car crash, and she never got over it."

"What happened?"

"She..." her shoulders heaved as she sighed, "I don't feel like I should be telling you this, Tom. I feel like you've got enough problems at the moment."

"I'll have even more problems sitting up all night worrying about what's wrong if you don't tell me. Come on – a problem halved, a problem shared, right?"

She gave him a weak smile, "Clichés don't work for me."

"Please, Nikki. What was her name?"

"Jess. She... she tried to kill herself. Jumped out of a window; broke her neck. But she didn't die straight away," Nikki stared straight ahead now, towards one of the tables. The food hadn't been cleared away – everyone had abandoned their meal to gather around their teacher. "My mum was dying too. Cancer. She passed away while my sister was in a coma; she was heartbroken, felt like she'd failed as a mother."

"And you felt like you'd failed as a sister?"

"Yeah. _Yeah_."

"Nikki..."

"Don't, Tom. I don't want your pity."

He nodded, squeezed her arm, "How old were you?"

"Nineteen, when Jess died, a few months after Mum – she'd just turned seventeen. She didn't ever wake up, and they didn't ever expect her to, but... but you know, I just sat there, every night, every single night."

"So you don't like hospitals."

"No."

He bit his lip, found himself desperate to comfort her, desperate to wrap his arms around her and whisper into her ear. He met her gaze, though, and he realised she wasn't upset; she was past upset.

It must have been over a decade ago now, he supposed – her eyes were almost blank, as if she'd pushed away the emotions she'd felt. She'd had to move on with her life, make something of herself, not ruin everything by feeling guilty when she knew, deep down, it wasn't her fault. He understood that.

"I went into the army," she continued, "I was petrified at first."

"I can't really imagine you being petrified."

She smiled, "It taught me things I couldn't have learnt at school – it taught me everything that's made me who I am. Without it... My childhood was never easy. Without the army, I think I'd probably have ended up doing the same as Jess. It was the best decision of my life."

"I'm glad you're here," Tom said softly.

"I'm glad you're here, too."

Neither of them spoke for a long moment after that. Tom could feel the tension between them in the air, more complicated than he could ever begin to unravel. There was a spark between them; he'd known that since he'd first met her. But there were other things too.

"So can I... would you mind if I stayed with you for a few days, just until I'm less likely to fall over when I stand up? I might not want to stay in hospital, but I guess I should respect the doctor's orders."

"Of course you can."

"And Tom?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind if we don't mention Jess again? I don't... I don't talk about it; I've never told anyone except you. It's not that I don't want to remember her, because I never stop thinking about her, really, but..."

Tom knew how that felt. "Of course. That's fine."

"Only it's the anniversary of her death next week. I... I normally go to her grave. You know..." she sighed again, "God, I'm asking so much of you. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Of course I'll come with you."

"Thanks. I... I've never really had anyone..."

He nodded quickly. He didn't want her to complete that sentence, not yet. He stood up, bending his stiff legs, and held out his hands to her, helping her up and guiding her to his office without another word.

XxXxX

**You may or may not know that I'm never happy with my writing, but I've just finished writing chapter ten of this story and I am actually a bit pleased with it, which never happens. So yeah, if you can hang on through two more chapters of rubbish... ;)**


	8. Chapter 8

**HEATHER PEACE TWEETED ME LAST NIGHT. Don't think I've ever screamed so much. Just saying.**

**Thank you so much for the reviews for chapter six :')**

**Did everyone like my WR puppets, by the way?**

**This chapter is for Never-Clip-My-Wings-x.**

_"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it."  
>- Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights<em>

**I've just finished reading Wuthering Heights – my English teacher gave it to me last year, and it took me a *while* to get into it; I'm not exactly a fan of classics, even if I'm trying to broaden my horizons. Personally, I liked the quote about the pigeons and the pillows, which isn't exactly relevant, but this is fanfiction! All will become clear...**

The house was surprisingly tidy, Nikki thought, considering it occupied only males, both of whom were busy. She wasn't actually _surprised_, though, for she'd learnt in the first five minutes of them meeting that Tom was different – he wouldn't fit in with her expectations.

There was a lot she _didn't_ know about him. Slowly, he was becoming more confident in her company, and behaving less like a nervous schoolboy on a first date, but she still knew there'd always be secrets between them, no matter what happened in the future. He was a complex man, and she wasn't so simple herself.

"Miss," Josh interrupted her thoughts, handing her a mug of coffee and a digestive. The coating of chocolate had begun to melt where he'd help it. He sucked his thumb, smiling sheepishly.

"You don't need to call me that, Josh."

"What would you like me to call you, then?"

"How about Nikki?"

He raised his hands in protest, "But you're my teacher."

"Well, obviously at school you'll call me Miss. As I won't be going back to work for a while, though, and as, thanks to your father's kindness, I'm going to be living with you, it'll be awkward for both of us if we keep us the student-teacher thing."

She was trying her best to sound friendly and sincere, when all she really wanted to do was lie down on the sofa and watch an old movie, or sit outside reading as the sun set. She sounded so boring and old, but that was what came of being lonely.

Josh shrugged, "Okay."

"I want us to be friends; I want us to put the past behind us, and try to move on, for everyone's sake."

"Okay."

Nikki cradled her coffee in her hands, the half-eaten biscuit balanced on her leg as she tried to make eye-contact with the boy. Why did she feel that sense of duty towards him, and the need to protect him? Why did she so badly want him to see that she cared, for him to understand that he could trust her?

"It's all very quiet and serious in here," Tom stepped into the room, sipping his own drink, his gaze flickering between his son and... what was she to him? His colleague? His friend? His lodger? The person who made his heart throb every time he met her gaze? "Everything alright?"

Josh shrugged again, "Yeah. I'm going upstairs to do some revision before tea. You and M... Nikki can talk."

Tom waited until his son had ascended the stairs before he sat down beside Nikki, "You've got him wrapped around your little finger, then?"

She smiled and offered him the remainder of the biscuit, "Something like that."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Shouldn't I be?"

"You look like you're upset. Is it... is it about Jess? Or does something hurt?"

"No, the Paracetamol is kicking in nicely," she exhaled, ignoring the first question, and giving him another smile. Neither of her smiles had been genuine, though, and Tom knew it as well as she did. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Mm. Same."

"Tom, do you think..."

"Does Josh not like me?"

"Of course he likes you. He never gives me chocolate digestives, you know – you're honoured," he smiled, but she didn't smile back, "He just feel guilty, for what he did to you; I know you forgave him, but he can't forgive himself. He... I think he's struggling with not being in control. Lauren and Finn are worried too; they think he's avoiding them. He needs time. It's not an easy thing to get your head around."

"Of course not."

Nikki glanced around the room for inspiration, wanting to change the subject. She picked up a copy of _Wuthering Heights_ lying on the table and flicked through it. "Classics lad, are you?"

"Comes with the job."

"Yeah, but you don't have Michael breathing down your neck to read them in your own time, do you? Are there CCTV cameras here? Is that what comes with being deputy head?"

He smirked and gave her a playful tap, "Only in the bathroom. Anyway, what the hell are you doing teaching English if you don't like reading?"

"I never said I didn't like reading. I love reading; reading is my _life_. I just find some classics... well, I just don't like some of them."

"_Wuthering Heights_ being one of those _some_?"

"Yeah," she said quietly, then raised her voice and added a sprinkle of sarcasm, "Why does it matter? This isn't 20 bloody questions."

"Defensive, hey? You just don't understand them, that's all."

She turned a few pages and allowed her eyes to fall on the text, "_Ah, they put pigeons' feathers in the pillows – no wonder I couldn't die!_ I mean, really, this is quality writing."

"You remind me of Catherine, actually."

"Cheeky bastard."

They were both silent for a long beat. He couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic again, or if she was actually hurt. She sounded hurt. The thing was, he'd only been half joking.

"Really?" she murmured.

She did remind him of Catherine, in a way, and she reminded him of other things too. The way she was so beautiful, and yet didn't seem to care about it; the way he felt attracted to her, however much he tried to pretend he didn't. Se could be so gentle – she was forgiving, and empathetic.

At risk of feeling as though he was just listing a thesaurus of positive words inside his head to describe her, there were negatives too. She was sarcastic, as she kept proving. She didn't want to let him in either; she distanced herself, as though she was afraid.

"Yes. Really."

"She's a bitch."

"She's misunderstood."

"You think I'm _misunderstood_?" she snapped. His eyes must have portrayed his surprise – she was proving herself to be more like Catherine, fierce and stroppy. She lowered her head. "You're digging yourself further into the hole here, Tom."

"Don't make such a big deal of it. She's a character."

Nikki nodded her head, and her hair bounced, cascading down her upper back in waves. He wondered if that was the problem – Nikki lived her life with these characters, because she had nothing else. She was wrapped up in the imaginary world, and it meant everything to her, because the real world was so shit.

She coughed, "Does that make you Heathcliff?"

He couldn't find the words to reply before she'd stood up and left the room, taking her empty mug with her, not looking back. Heathcliff really was evil. And lonely, and abused, and worthless.

They were all circling a pool of guilt at the moment – him, Josh and Nikki. It was hard to make out who was friend and who was foe; the line between them was blurred, the emotions complicated. He found it hard to see how they could resolve this, but he hoped to God that they would, one day, because... well, because he loved them: Josh, and Nikki.

She made it hard for him to openly, unambiguously love her, but she made it even harder for him to turn away.

XxXxX

**Still screaming.**


	9. Chapter 9

**For anyone that asked, Heather said, "That's very clever! And funny! X".**

**Thank you so much for the reviews, particularly to **_**•••Malika•••**_ ("_I also found out some spoilers that make me very sad. Including who will still be there in the next series, which made me happy/sad" _– TELL ME MORE?) **and anyone else who's stuck with the story. Oh yeah, and endless thanks to **_**Never-Clip-My-Wings**_**, whose story **_**Something Burning**_** is literally my life at the moment!**

**Not really very happy with this chapter, but when am I ever? Thought it was important to get Josh's view in anyway, as he's kind of the central character that Nikki and Tom revolve around :')**

"_Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid."  
>― Fyodor Dostoyevsky<em>

Chapter Nine:

"Josh."

"Sir."

Michael surveyed the boy from his chair. His hands were locked together on his lap, fingers twitching. His hair was ruffled, and his eyes dark, as though he'd lain in bed all night rolling around without sleep.

"I just wanted to ask you how you're doing. You know; is the medication alright? And what about the meetings with the psychologist; are you feeling better now?"

"I'm fine, Sir. People keep asking me that."

"They're just concerned about you, Josh."

"I don't want them to be concerned about me any more," he sighed, tapping his feet against the carpet agitatedly, playing out a never-repeating tune, "I'm sick of everyone looking at me like I'm different, like they pity me. Then some people move away from me when I go past them, like I'm going to hit them – no one treats me normally any more. I just want to be normal."

"Everything will settle down soon."

"When's _soon_?"

"I'm not sure yet," Michael raised a hand and ran it wearily over his forehead, "You just need to let everyone get used to it. You know there's a doctor coming in to talk about Schizophrenia in assembly tomorrow, don't you? Once people understand, they won't act differently any more."

"The assembly. Do I have to go?"

"Not if you don't want to. Although it might help you."

Josh shook his head.

"That's fine. It's up to you."

"Nothing's up to me any more. Have you not noticed that? Everyone's making decisions for me, and they think they're doing the right thing, but they never ask, do they? What if I don't want them to do that? What if I just want everything to slow down?"

"Who are we talking about? Is it your dad?"

"No," Josh shrugged, "Maybe. It's everyone. The doctors are just going on about what I have to do to manage it; all the medication, and what to do if I feel funny, and how I have to talk to people about what I'm thinking. And Dad... I don't know. He's trying to help, but..."

"It's hard for him too."

Josh slammed his elbows down on the table and ran his hands through his hair, so the curls fell limply about his face, "Why does everyone keep saying that? Try being _me_."

"Can't you talk to him?"

"No."

"Well, what about Miss Boston?"

"Nikki?" he emphasized the fact that he called her by her forename, saw the concern in Michael's eyes deepen, "What about her?"

"Can't you talk to her?"

"I don't know."

Michael gazed out of the window for a moment. He wasn't going to pretend to understand what Josh was going through. He watched a couple of the younger kids fling off their blazers and roll down the grassy hill; it was freezing, for God's sake. He didn't understand any children. He just had particular trouble understanding Josh, currently.

"How is... how is Nikki?"

"She's okay."

"Yeah? Do you reckon she'll be back at work soon?"

"What's it got to do with me? Why don't you ask her?"

"I'm just trying to make conversation, Josh. I'm just asking. Are you..." he sighed, "Are your father and Nikki getting on okay?"

"What, when you say _getting on okay_, do you mean are they _together_? It's fine – just ask. Everyone else does; all anyone's said to me all week is about my dad getting it on with another teacher. Otherwise they just avoid me."

"I didn't mean that."

"Of course you did. Look, I don't know, okay? I haven't asked them. I haven't sat outside my dad's room all night listening."

"Okay, okay," Michael held up his hands in surrender.

Josh wasn't consoled. What was it about adults; why did they always interfere in private things? What the hell did it have to do with anyone else if Nikki and Tom were shagging?

"Sit down, Josh."

"No. I'm not... I'm not going to sit here. I don't like being patronised. Stop treating me like a kid – just because I've got Schizophrenia, it doesn't mean I'm stupid. I'm still..." his voice broke, "I'm still the same. Just different."

"I know you are. Josh... _Josh_."

He'd already left the room. He wandered along the corridors, running his fingers down the walls as he passed them, keeping his chin buried in his chest to avoid the glares. If you couldn't see them whispering about you, it didn't hurt so much, did it?

Maybe it did; maybe you just imagined it happening if you tried to avoid seeing it. Things were always worse in your head, and especially his head. His head was messed up – that was what everyone was telling him.

He saw his father coming down the stairs, and their eyes met briefly; Tom sped up, but so did Josh, slipping out into the yard and disappearing into the crowds of children.

He liked being invisible now. Before, he'd liked attention, because it was a natural human instinct to want to soak up praise, but after the gay situation, and now this... It felt like everyone knew everything about him; there was no privacy. He wanted to hide from it all.

He didn't want to talk to his father. He wanted to think.

One of the reasons he'd reacted to Michael's suggestion was – aside from the fact that he had no right to gossip about his staff behind their backs – because it was the very suggestion he'd tried to push from his mind, convince himself it was just paranoia.

Really, though, he knew that everyone was questioning it: were Tom and Nikki together? It sounded so simple, but it wasn't – it was really, really complicated. He looked at them, and he couldn't tell what was going on in either of their minds.

They were cautious around each other, like they were worried about saying the wrong thing. Was there an attraction? Or were they trying to act casual for his benefit; trying to hide their relationship from him? Why would they do that? Did they think he would mind? He hated lies. He'd prefer to know the truth, however much it hurt.

If they were together, what did it mean? He'd get pushed aside again; he was used to that by now, and it didn't bother him, because he wanted to be invisible, and to be able to hide. But he didn't want Nikki to hurt Tom, and he didn't want Tom to hurt Nikki.

Why were there so many questions? Whenever he tried to formulate an answer, a flood of new questions hit him. He hadn't thought there was anything going on, but he'd kept his head down, hadn't he? Buried himself again? He realised it did hurt more, not knowing. You just imagined, when you didn't know.

Things were always worse in his head.

XxXxX

**I've got so much on this week – I've honestly never been so tired in my life. Not entirely sure when I'm going to get the chance to write or update or anything else, but I'll try.**

**Please review xx**


	10. Chapter 10

**I've just realised there are 20 people on the alert list for this story now, thank you so much, I love you all. Hope you enjoy this chapter, it took me a while to write but I think I'm reasonably pleased with the result ;')**

**_xDivashell24x_ – Thank you! The ties for the Finn and Grantly puppets are being made currently... _•••Ma__lika Rose Day•••_ - You should get a fanfic account so I can talk to you properly. Or actually I could tweet you. What's your name on Twitter? Never guess what mine is.**

_How can you be so insecure and so beautiful at the same time? _*

Her hair was still damp from the bath, framing her face, with a couple of escaped strands hanging down over her forehead. She wore a scarlet dressing gown, her legs beneath it pale as ivory, the contrast stunning. Everything about her was stunning.

She raised a hand to her face self-consciously, flicking her fringe away. It bounced back, falling over her eyes again, hiding her from the world. She laughed nervously. "Hey. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah," Tom nodded, "Are you? Good bath?"

"Yeah, thanks. Much nicer than my own. Your hot tap runs hot, for a start, which I suppose makes quite a difference, so..."

"I suppose it would."

"Is it okay if I sit down? I thought we could watch a movie or something, and we could get a takeaway – I'll pay – and..." she realised she was chattering, talking unnaturally fast, sounding like a nervous child, "Where's Josh?"

"He's staying at Finn's tonight."

"Oh. I didn't know."

"Neither did I, until about five minutes ago, when Finn's mother rang me."

Nikki sank down at the other end of the sofa, leaving room between them, "Has something happened, Tom? Did you argue?"

"No, he just..."

"What?"

"Michael talked to him; he wanted to know how the medication was going, if the psychologist was okay. There's someone talking in assembly tomorrow about Schizophrenia too – he wanted to make sure Josh knew."

"And Josh wasn't happy about it?"

Tom shook his head distractedly, "Josh said... he said no-one gave him a choice about anything any more – everyone was treating him like he was different, like he needed looking after. He said he was the same, just different."

"We said it wasn't going to be easy for him, Tom; we knew that. Of course he's going to feel upset. He's going through so much at the moment."

"Yeah, and I've made it worse."

"How have you?"

"They got onto talking about us. Michael asked how you were, and if we were getting on okay, and..." he trailed off, suddenly fascinated by the floor again, refusing to meet the gaze that bore into the side of his head, "And he took it the wrong way. He says everyone's talking about us – everyone keeps asking him if we're... I think he's just confused about what's going on, and he thinks I'm lying to him."

"But there's nothing going on."

"I know. I know."

"Tom..."

He looked at her again, entranced by her eyes. Beautiful, deep bluey-green. They portrayed so many emotions he couldn't quite separate them, work out what she was really feeling.

As he watched, she blinked, and he realised she was forcing back tears, trying to hold herself together. He wanted to reach out and touch her arm, but... But what? For Christ's sake, but what?

"Tom," she repeated in a whisper.

He didn't reply. He didn't want to pierce the moment.

"Look," she said softly, eventually, in that all-over-the-place accent he'd grown to love and to hate in equal measures, "I'm going to dry my hair; I'll be back down in a few minutes. Why don't you look at the takeaway menu, if you still want to..."

"Chinese?"

She smiled as she left the room, her bare feet padding across the rug, "Yeah. Sounds good."  
>He picked up the book she'd left on the sofa. Small, leather-bound, battered. Presumably, it had fallen from her pocket; presumably, it was her diary, with her meetings scrawled in, and phone numbers she needed to remember on the back page. That was how his own diary looked. Something like organised chaos.<p>

He knew he shouldn't, but he carefully unbound the buckle and opened the cover. Flicking through the pages, his heart pounding: each was crammed full with poetry and lists and quotes and lyrics, and then there were photographs tacked to the paper, and sketches. A diary, but a different kind of diary altogether.

He felt as though he was holding her in his hands, caressing her entire life in one book. Some of the ink was smeared, ruined with tears; some pages were torn and creased as though she'd attacked them. One was splattered with blood.

"Jesus Christ," he murmured. Words escaping his lips subconsciously; bitter, and frightened. "Nikki. My God."

"Don't," she whispered from the doorway.

He stared up at her, hands clamped around the book.

"Don't read the last page."

"W..." he couldn't get the word out. The question: a one word question. Although it was a rhetorical question, really, wasn't it? He didn't really need to ask it, because he knew the answer, deep down, when he searched through the things in his mind he really didn't want to search through.

"Just..." she took a step forward, held out her hands for the book.

He shoved it into them. He didn't want to know. "I shouldn't have looked."

"It's okay."

"I don't..."

"No," she slumped down beside him again, cradled it, "I was going to suggest to Josh that he makes one, actually. It might help him. It helps me."

"I don't understand, Nikki."

She shook her head.

He laughed weakly, because he needed to clear his throat, "Sweet and sour?"

"Like me, huh?"

"Nikki..."

"My best friend was killed. My last year, in the army. We went out drinking for their birthday, and... and... they... there was a bomb, and..."

"I'm so sorry."

"I was in hospital, for a while after. I never went back."

"You... were you..."

"PTSD. Depression. I don't know. It doesn't really matter, does it? They just said it might help me, to do something like this, to write things down, and it does. It helps me keep myself together."

He realised she was running her fingers along her wrist; there were scars there, deep gashes in her skin that had been made to hurt, scars that would never heal.

She followed his gaze and pulled the scarlet sleeve back over her hand, "Sorry."

"No, no. You... God, Nikki."

"I know. It's all happened in my life, hasn't it? Never a dull moment," she smiled again, but her voice was crackling as though her throat was full of tears, "You know, the army was the best decision of my life, but it was also the worst. That's just how things worked out. This is just who I am now."

"If you ever want to talk about any of this..."

"How about that sweet and sour now?"

"Yeah," he said, but he didn't move.

He didn't know which was this conversation was going to go, because he didn't know what was going through her head, and he didn't really know what was going through his own either. In his mind, three different scenarios were unravelling.

a) He leant in and tried to kiss her, and she pushed him away and jumped up and told him that he was being stupid and making a mistake, and feeling as though he loved her when he couldn't possibly, and that this wasn't right for either of them;

b) She leant in and tried to kiss him, and he stopped her and explained that she wasn't in any fit emotional state to do this, that she needed to think carefully, that they both needed to go into this slowly and be sure of what they were doing if it was ever going to happen at all, which it wasn't;

c) They kissed.

XxXxX

*** Explanation of the quote at the beginning –**

**Heather: (sings a bit, stops, laughs nervously) Sorry. Start again. It's just because I'm worried about my voice. Sorry. For those of you that just recorded that, delete. Take two.**

**Gill: _How can you be so insecure and so beautiful at the same time?_**

**Heather: You've taken that directly from Some Kind of Wonderful. The 80's film. Yeah. Carry on. (sings)**

**Me: (cries)**


	11. Chapter 11

**_Kitkat..._ Regarding what the hell is going on; I don't know if you have Twitter, but I made some Waterloo Road puppets of Tom, Nicki and Josh. Then I made some more – Rhona, Shona, Tariq and Finn – the actors seemed to like them! You might be able to find them if you search my Twitter account :')**

"_Do not apologize for crying. Without this emotion, we are only robots."  
>― Elizabeth Gilbert<em>

What happened wasn't what he'd expected at all. It wasn't something he'd planned for, or something he'd wanted to happen, but he couldn't change it.

He broke down into tears, sobs shaking his shoulders, droplets running down his cheeks. And he didn't even know why he was crying, and he knew somewhere inside of him that it should be Nikki crying and not him, because she had so many reasons to cry, and he so few.

He felt as though he'd let everyone down, everyone who he'd ever cared about, everyone who had ever relied on him to make sure everything was okay. Josh – he was supposed to be his father; they were supposed to have an unbreakable bond, and go fishing at weekends and discuss football matches.

"It's alright, Tom. It'll be okay," Nikki was talking to him softly, soothingly. Her hand on his shoulder, gently massaging the bone. "I promise, it'll be okay."

"I'm sorry," he ran his hands roughly across his eyes, smearing dampness everywhere, shivering.

"You need to get it off your chest – you'll feel better."

"I shouldn't be..."

"It's alright."

He leant his head on her shoulder, and she ran her hand through his hair. Her nails touched his scalp, and a tremor ran up his spine. She must have felt him shaking, because she moved away, gave him room to breathe and to think.

When his sobs subsided, and he was left with nothing but empty lungs and eyes heavy with tears that couldn't fall, she wrapped her arms around him, and held him there silently, rocking him backwards and forwards, smoothing down the back of his top, humming gently.

He wondered who she'd hugged before like this. Maybe she'd been there when her best friend had died – yes, she said she had, said they'd been coming home from a night out for her birthday. God, she died on her birthday. Maybe Nikki had nursed her as she'd died, comforted her as she'd screamed. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thought.

She pulled away, "You okay now?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Tears aren't something I'm ever sorry for."

She was still holding her book. A strand of ribbon was hanging out, blood red, like her dressing gown, like the scars on her wrist. She ran her fingers down it, twirled it around them.

"Nikki, you and me..."

Her eyes hushed him. She didn't want him to continue the sentence; didn't want him ever to consider there was an opportunity in their being together. He'd known all along, but still his heart sank lower and lower as he watched tears well up in her eyes too.

She didn't want him to touch her; he could see that. But all he wanted to do was cling to her forever. And that was the way of the world.

"You and me," she repeated, "There's too much baggage. There's too much... it won't ever happen. It _can't_ ever happen."

"Yeah. I know."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I." How many things was he sorry for? So many things.

"I don't really fancy the sweet and sour now. Do you have a pizza or something? We can defrost some chips too; there's some in the freezer, isn't there? Just... just talk."

"I'm not hungry."

"Oh."

He knew he wasn't handling it the way he should, but he was too tired to care, and too embarrassed. Pouring out your tears to someone, thinking they cared. Being deluded; it hurt. "Have what you like. There's chocolate digestives in the cupboard – help yourself. I'm going to have an early night."

"Tom..."

"I'm tired."

"So am I, but..."

"Just leave it, Nikki," he snapped. His voice sounded foreign; he didn't even recognise himself any more. He wiped his face again, found sweat and tears on his fingertips. More tears. "I'll see you tomorrow."

There were so many more things she could've said, but she didn't, because she knew he didn't want her to. She didn't even sound angry, just cool and calm and detached. He admired her for that, but it hurt. Everything she said, everything she did; it bloody well hurt him. "Okay. Goodnight, then."

XxXxX

The floorboards creaked upstairs, and he lay curled up in his duvet listening as she ran between the rooms, stumbling on the landing. Listening as she threw up in the toilet, as she washed her hands in the sink, as she wandered trance-like back to bed.

She was sick all night. The third time, when the negative emotions of the pain of rejection and the embarrassment of breaking down had worn off, when he'd been given time to think things through as he lay awake, he slipped from bed too, and followed her to the bathroom.

He knocked on the door, "Nikki?"

"Did I wake you?"

"Are you okay?" Stupid question, Tom. Stupid question. There was a time for interrogation, and there was a time for silence. "Can I come in?"

"I'll be okay in a minute."

He opened the door. She was huddled up in the dark against the toilet, clinging to the seat, her head bent over it. He flicked on the light; if her skin had been ivory before, she was ghostly pale now. And her eyes, her beautiful eyes, were dull and colourless.

"Nikki," he crept across to her.

"I'm okay."

"You're not. You're... what have you done?"

"Nothing."

He seized her arms roughly. There was no blood on her wrists, nothing but the scars of past pain. He bent over to hold back her hair as she gagged again. "Have you been drinking? Are you making yourself sick?"

"No."

"No what?"

She pushed him away, "Just... just let me..."

It was then that he realised, in the dim light, as he took a step backwards and sat down on the edge of the bath, that she was wearing nothing but a bra on the upper half of her body, and nothing but shorts below. And that she was shivering, and that she looked neither drunk nor bulimic. Just ill.

"Is it your head again?"

"No."

"You never should have left the hospital, Nikki; they were worried about you, they... I never should have let you come here; I should've taken you back, I..."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No," he caught her wrist as she tried to stand up, "No, of course not. Come on, let's get you back to bed – I'll bring you a drink, and a hot water bottle, yeah?"

She splashed water over her face at the sink, "It's not my head. I just have flashbacks sometimes. I just remember things I don't want to remember. I'm sorry if I woke you up. I'll be fine; you can go back to bed."

He smiled and took her to the spare room, tucking her into bed, wrapping the covers around her. He'd done this with Josh when they'd spoken about Schizophrenia and what was going to happen. His son had come through to his bedroom in the middle of the night, and he'd taken him back to bed and stayed with him until he slept again.

Nikki's hand lingered in his, so he crouched down beside her.

"It... it can't happen," she murmured.

"I know. We'll just be friends."

"Mmhm. Friends."

"You're going to be alright, Nikki. Everything's going to be alright. We'll work through it together, like you said. Josh will be fine, and you'll be fine – everything will be alright one day soon."

"Thank you, Tom."

When her eyes closed, he stayed for a few more minutes, watching her chest rise and fall slowly. Then he stood up and turned away, but turned back, and stooped to tenderly kiss her forehead.

He supposed that was the best they were going to share for a while. For some reason, that didn't bother him so much any more. _Mmhm. Friends._

He closed her door behind him, and went downstairs to make himself a strong coffee and watch the twenty-four hour news.

XxXxX

**Maybe the next chapter will be a little fluffier, think there's been enough angst for a while. The course of true love never did run smooth; just have a little patience. Major copyright infringement of _Shakespeare_ and _Take That_ here.**

**Please review xxx**


	12. Chapter 12

**In preparation for tomorrow, I thought I'd put this up now. Think I'll cry; there are some amazing actors leaving this series now, especially Jack and Millie and Hope :(**

**This chapter is dedicated to _Stevie Radleigh_, because she likes Waterloo Road, and because she gets that hyper feeling when she gets reviews, and because she knows Pi to 17 digits after the point – how cool (and slightly odd) is that?**

**Quite a long update, but I hope it's slightly more uplifting than recent chapters, even if it covers some dark topics along the way ;)**

_Homophobia is gay.__  
>~ <em>_Frank Iero_

"Page twelve."

Finn grinned, "Sir?"

Grantly grunted, "Yes, Mr Sharkey?"

"Are Mr Clarkson and Miss Bolton having a thing?"

"And what exactly would you define as _having a thing_?"

"He means," Lauren interjected helpfully, "Are they seeing each other? Like, going out? Shagging?"

"I'll have no such vulgar language in my classroom," he spluttered, dropping his textbook to the desk and slumping down into his chair, "Fraternising, you may say."

"Okay, so are Mr Clarkson and Miss Bolton fraternising?"

"Well..."

The classroom burst into collective laughter, the high pitched squeals and gasps for air breaking the ice in the room, warming everyone. A smirk passed across even the teacher's face.

"I don't see that it has anything to do with any of us," he told them all sternly, "And, may I remind you, Mr Clarkson is not married, nor in a relationship, so he is free to do as he pleases."

"What about Miss Bolton, though? You not been stalking her, have you, Sir?"

"What if she's a maniser?"

"A what?" Lauren rolled her eyes at Kyle.

"Like a womaniser, except with men?" he explained, as though it was obvious, and his bewildered classmates were the stupid ones.

Tariq leant back in his chair to give Finn a raised eyebrow, "Maybe she's a _woman_iser after all..."

"Right, that's enough," Grantly coughed, well aware that the conversation had passed the boundaries he set out as just and fair, "Page twelve, as I've already mentioned. We're going to be studying _Of Mice and Men_ again today, so... Trudi, what can you tell us about the story so far?"

Trudi began to give an explanation, and Tariq leant back again to speak to Finn and Lauren. They turned away and stared down at their textbooks, but he made it clear he wanted to speak to them.

"What?" Lauren snapped.

"What if she is a _woman_iser?"

"What are you on about?"

"What if she... you know? The other team?"

Finn slapped a hand onto his forehead in mock horror, "What, you mean what if she's gay? What if she is?"

"Sir," Tariq raised his voice again as Trudi finished her summary, "You know Miss Bolton?"

"What about Miss Bolton this time, Mr Siddiqui? I'm beginning to get the feeling you are somewhat fascinated by her. I'm sure she'd be flattered by the attention; would you like me to tell her all about it?"

"No, actually, Sir. We just had a question."

"_We_?" Finn probed.

He and Lauren exchanged glances. They'd meant it as a joke; they'd been joking with Josh about it all week, trying to make him feel better when his father was the subject of so much attention.

This had been the next step, just to see how Grantly reacted, and to report back to Josh later on. They hadn't meant it maliciously, because they both quite liked Miss Bolton, and so did Josh, didn't he? Nikki had been wonderfully kind to him through... everything. And they certainly hadn't meant Tariq to get involved.

"Is Miss Bolton straight?"

Grantly spluttered into his tea, "Enough."

"I reckon she's a lesbian," Kyle called.

"How, like?"

"She's got the haircut, hasn't she?"

"I don't know," Tariq shrugged, "I thought they had short hair. She's well fit, if she is."

"Enough. Mr Stack, can you read the first paragraph at the top of page twelve, please? About characters in the novel?"

"I don't know, sir. Can I?"

"You can, and you will."

"Where's Josh, anyway?" Tariq glanced around the class, feigning concern, "With his imaginary friends again? Wired up to all them machines in the shrink's office?"

"Maybe he's filming it; he likes that kind of thing, doesn't he? All the gay stuff? He might put it up on YouTube."

Grantly stood up at the same time as Finn did. Lauren tugged the latter back down into his chair and the teacher prowled up the classroom and slammed a hand down on Tariq's desk.

"You do not speaking about a member of staff like that," he growled, "Whether she is _having a thing_ with Mr Clarkson, Mrs Diamond, or both, is not a matter for you to ponder upon, and certainly not one for you to broadcast. Out, now. And you, Stack."

"Aw, Sir," Kyle grinned, "We were only having a laugh."

"It did not sound like _a laugh_ to me. It sounded like bullying, and homophobia, and I will not tolerate either in my classroom – do you understand?" Grantly asked menacingly into total silence, not giving them a chance to retort, "Out, now; or Mr Byrne will hear about this."

Kyle smirked as they both stood up and sauntered out of the room. His words were clear before the door slammed: "He liked her too, I guess, Tariq. Maybe she's bi instead."

Trudi buried her head in her hands, giving Lauren an apologetic grimace.

Grantly reclaimed his mug and took a sip, "Right, Finn. From the top of page twelve. Thank you."

Their eyes met, and Finn registered the softness of the tone, and the unusual use of his forename, and the glint in his teacher's eye that clearly said 'we will get them, later'. He nodded, with new respect for Mr Budgen. They bloody well would.

"The characters in _Of Mice and Men_..."

XxXxX

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"You don't need to be sorry, son."

Given that Tom had been up all night following Nikki's illness – she was now lying on the sofa cuddling Josh's old microwavable lavender bear – and Josh's evening hadn't been much more peaceful than Finn's, Michael had been rather lenient in giving them the day off to recuperate. Probably because it wasn't just about lack of sleep, but about father and son talking again.

"Is Nikki okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine."

"Was it... was it my fault? Her being upset and everything?" Josh kicked at the ground, and a shower of dusty earth flew up around them.

They were sitting in the park on the swings, watching the ducklings splash in the pond, and the daffodils wander in the breeze. Tom was licking the strawberry sauce from his fingers after his ice cream, while Josh chomped the remainder of the cornet. They didn't really have time together any more. It was nice just to sit and talk, without being constantly rushed.

"Of course not," Tom leant across and ruffled his son's hair will still-sticky fingers, "Look, Nikki's just gone through a lot in her life – it's not been as easy as you'd thinking by looking at her – and I think sometimes things just get to her. It's not your fault, certainly."

Josh nodded slowly, then took his phone out of his pocket, "It's Finn."

"Shouldn't he be in lessons?"

They both laughed at the hypocrisy of that question. The boy's face fell as he read the text, though. "He says people are spreading stuff about her."

"About who?"

"Nikki."

"What stuff?"

Josh handed over the phone.

_Just thought I shd tell u what people r sayin – in english we were joking on wiv mr b about ur dad + miss, but then tariq and kyle started spreadin stuff, sir chucked them out but every1s spreadin shit about her bein gay + goin out wiv miss d, sorry mate, call me when I get outta class :(_

"This is Finn's idea of friendship?"

"He's being a mate, Dad. He's telling me what people are saying, so at least I know why they're laughing when I walk past tomorrow. You don't get it."

"No, I don't. I'm sorry," Tom sighed, kicking the swing backwards a little, so he rocked gently, "Miss D? Mrs Diamond? Can't really imagine that happening, can you?"

"They just say stuff to hurt people."

"Yeah. Kids are cruel."

Tom stopped the swing and jumped off. They wandered back through the park, over the bridge, across the grass. Somewhere along their walk, Josh's arm found his dad's, and they stayed linked together until they reached the gate. Tom hoped his smile wasn't as evident on his face as it was inside his head.

From ashes came seeds. From bad came good.

"Bet Nikki's watching _Jeremy Kyle_."

Tom smirked, "Or Parliament TV, perhaps."

"She's probably gone through your DVDs and found _Princess Diaries_ or something. Maybe _Shrek_; you kept that, didn't you?"

"Yeah. Well, how about you choose a movie – provided it isn't too embarrassing – and we'll watch it tonight. I might even make some popcorn, if Nikki's feeling up to it."

"Popcorn and ice cream, Dad? You'll be loosening your belt."

"Oh, really?" Tom gave him a shove.

They walked up through the town. It was quiet, aside from the steady stream of cars on the main road; nobody hung around waiting to use the cash machine, or chattering at the bus stop. It was peaceful, actually. Tom decided he'd have to be tired more often.

"Do you like her?"

He didn't even bother procrastinating, for he knew his son wouldn't take a non-committal answer; the evidence was right beneath his nose, and all he needed was the explanation to piece everything together. Like a crime novel, really, with a different type of crime, because really it was a crime to fall in love sometimes. Josh deserved the truth.

"I do, son. I like her very much. But we both have a lot of things on our minds at the moment, and nothing is happening between us, okay? We're just friends. If that changes, you'll be the first to know, I promise you."

"She's not... she's not gay, is she?"

"No."

"Or bi?"

"Now there's a question."

Josh grinned. Wouldn't want anyone stealing his style now, would he? Somehow, he knew that Nikki would always be there for him, whoever and whatever he was, and that in return he and Tom would always be there for her. That was how it was.

"Race you home," he told his dad.

Tom groaned as Josh sprinted away ahead of him. Beaten by Nikki _and_ Josh at running? He was never going to live this, or his _Princess Diaries_ collection, down.

XxXxX

**I need advice, anyway. Is this story going downhill? Should I continue writing it? What does anyone think?**

**Another thing: I've just uploaded a story called _Dolly Mixtures_ about a heart-to-heart between Nicki and Rhona and Shona. It's probably going to be a one-shot and I'd appreciate it if you could tell me what you thought of it ;') xxx**


	13. Chapter 13

**100 REVIEWS. And 22 favourites, which beats anything I've ever had before. Thank you so, so,_ so_ much. Just some trivia: my fire alarm went off four times in the middle of the night, so I got up early. And you got an update;)**

**Okay, fluff over. This may be a little hard-hitting again.**

**It kind of killed me to write this. I'm not liable if it kills any of you.**

"_So full of artless jealousy is guilt,  
>It spills itself in fearing to be spilt."<em>

_~ Shakespeare_

_A week later._

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Course."

"Come here," Tom said.

His companion stopped and turned, allowing him to hold her for a moment. They stood on the edge of the woods, sheltered by leafy trees above them, looking out over the graveyard. When Tom released her, they tiptoed through the twigs and bracken and reached the gate.

"Thank you. For coming with me. For being there through everything."

"You don't need to thank me, Nikki."

As they'd eaten their toast with strawberry jam this morning, Josh had plaited Nikki's hair, and she now wore it tossed over her shoulder and tied with a blue ribbon, which made her eyes sparkle like stars in the night. A black dress, and long black boots.

He hadn't realised, when he'd first met her, how withdrawn and world-weary she was. The contrast now, after a week of cooking curries and muffins in the kitchen with him, and watching movies in the evenings with Josh, was wonderful.

"Will you just... would you wait here for me?"

"Yeah," he repeated her words from a moment ago, "Course."

She opened the gate herself, let it swing shut behind her, walked through the graveyard and knelt before her sister's stone. She could see Tom leaning against the wall, watching the birds on the church roof, giving her privacy.

"Jess," she whispered, "I came again."

She wasn't afraid of the dead any more. She'd been in dark places, but you didn't appreciate the light unless you'd seen the dark first, and she really appreciated the light now. Jess would've done too, and so would Kieran.

Kieran had been the best friend she'd told Tom about, the one who'd died. Tom has presumed it was a woman; she'd seen that. She hadn't told him Kieran had been male, or that he'd been the man she'd fallen inexplicably in love with, or that he'd pushed her out of the way when he'd realised there was a bomb.

She'd suffered minor injuries, and crawled across to him, "_Kieran_!"

"_Don't be upset, Nik,_" he'd gulped back the blood, his eyes flickering shut, "_I don't want... I want you to... be happy. Remember... the happy... the happy times._"

"_Please, don't,_" she'd sobbed.

"_It's okay. Everything will be okay_. _I love you_."

"_Kieran, don't_!"

"_Do you... do you love me_?"

"_Yes. I love you. I... I love you so much_," she'd stroked his face. And through her tears, she'd temporarily regained the courage that had served her throughout the army, when she'd killed, when she'd seen murder, just for his sake, "_You're going to be okay. The ambulance will be on its way now – we'll go to hospital, and you'll be fine, and we'll be happy again. I love you_."

"_I... I love... I love you more_."

She'd sat there, rocking him in her arms until he'd slept. She'd wanted to die with him, that day, and quite a lot of days after. She'd come here, and she'd told Jess about it. She'd slit her wrists, and she'd made herself sick. She'd fought with the will to die, and now she finally felt as though she had made it through.

"I brought you some flowers," she told her sister, laying them on the grave. Lilies, white lilies, with yellow centres that always stained her clothes when she brought them here. Jess had always loved white: it was pure.

She'd just been a little girl, really. She hadn't deserved any of what had happened to her; none of them had. Life was cruel, just as kids were cruel.

"You know, Jess, this year has been different. It feels like... I don't know. It feels like I'm finally making something of myself. I'm doing it for mum and for you and for Kieran – I'm a teacher now, I teach English. Do you remember when I used to read you stories in bed at night, when we were little? You always said I'd be a writer one day, didn't you? In a way, I am now."

Kieran had always told her, when they'd lain in bed together – sometimes he'd cry, and sometimes she would, and he had been the only person in the world except Jess to know that she wasn't as strong as she made out – that what didn't kill you made you stronger.

She'd told Kieran she didn't like clichés. She'd told Tom that too. Just as she'd told him she didn't like classics – she didn't like remembering the past, because it hurt her. But you had to remember, because memories held you together. And clichés were very often true.

"And I've met a man. He's up there," she indicated across the graveyard, "He's called Tom. He has a son called Josh – he's had a difficult time, like you, but he's bright and he's funny. He's a lovely boy. He's going to make something of his life, and I'm going to help him. I couldn't help you, but I'll help Josh."

One of the lilies fluttered in the breeze.

"And Tom... I'm not sure what's happening between us. We're friends, at the moment, but... but I love him, Jess. You always wanted me to be happy, and Kieran wanted me to be happy, and... and I just love him. He's there for me. He loves me too – he's been so wonderful."

She glanced back up towards him, and he gave her a smile, a smile that gave her the strength to continue.

"I think, Jess, one day, something will happen between us. And I don't want to feel guilty about that any more, because I've felt guilty enough, and there's no point in it. It just stabs at your heart, and rots your soul. You understand that, don't you?"

She raised a hand to wipe her eyes, but her face was dry. She knew it would hit her later, because it always did, and she'd sob, and she'd run to the bathroom all night, but Tom would be there for her, and Josh too. She loved them like the family she'd never really had, she realised. She loved Josh like a son.

She raised a hand and touched the gravestone. It was a plain stone, because she hadn't been in the mood for quotes when she'd had to make the decisions, hadn't wanted a cliché scrawled across it. _Jessica Louise Boston, RIP._

She stood up, and Tom opened the gate, but she hadn't quite finished. She snapped one lily from the bunch, and laid it tenderly on the grave beside her sister's, the tiny stone, still littered with teddy bears and messages. People never forgot. That warmed her heart, and she knew it would've warmed her sister's too.

_Lucy Boston. Died aged eighteen months. Forever in our hearts. Sleeping with the angels now. RIP._

"Night night, Luce. Give your mummy a cuddle from me," she whispered.

Then she stood up and made her way back up through the grass to the outskirts of the woods, where she fell once more into Tom's arms, and he held her as though he'd never let her go.

XxXxX

**Please review; this is kind of an experiment at writing proper angsty fanfiction. Good or bad? Would you just prefer some snogging? ;) xxx**


	14. Chapter 14

_**To all our friends it looked like I was crazy, and totally irrational...**___**I am determined that Nikki and Tom will get together at some point during this fic. I promise you, I want it to happen. It's just that sometimes my head and my heart and my hands won't work together.**

_Learn from yesterday, liv__e for today, hope for tomorrow.  
>The important thing is not to stop questioning<br>~ Einstein_

They were in the canteen when the fire alarm rang out across the room.

There was a silence as everyone took in the bell, and realised they needed to evacuate – then everyone jumped up, scrambled for the door, screaming and laughing.

Grantly had just reached the front of the queue, "I'll have fish and chips, please."

"Mushy peas wi' that?" Maggie asked.

"Yes, that w..."

"No, Grantly – there's a fire alarm," she rolled her eyes in a fond display of mocking, abandoning her shovel and gesturing to the door, "You go outside. You do know that, don't you?"

"Mmhm. Of course."

"Have you seen my dad?" Josh asked her as she watched Grantly march away, ordering the students into single file, "Or Miss Boston?"

"No, sorry, Josh. They'll be outside; you need to go out too, yeah? We'll have lunch later. Honestly, doesn't Mr Byrne understand – can't he arrange the drill at a different time? This is a disaster; the food goes cold, and he'll be the one complaining."

"It's not a drill."

Maggie raised an eyebrow, "Really?"

"Dad always tells me on the morning if there's one planned – they arrange them the day before, him and Mrs Diamond."

"They might tell me..."

"You two, stop hanging around chatting," Tom burst in through the door, ushering the remainder of children out through the fire door into the yard, his forehead creased with worry and his eyes sharp, "Outside, now. You alright, Josh?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. He didn't want reminding of how he'd reacted to the last fire alarm. Like Nikki had told him, the past was behind them now. If they wanted it to be. "Where's Nikki?"

"Sure she's outside," Tom led his son and Maggie – having evacuated the kitchens – into the chaos. Children picked up on the panic of an unplanned evacuation; they were spread across the yard in huddles currently, glancing back towards the school apprehensively.

"Your son tells me it's a real alarm, Mr C."

"Yeah," Tom managed to give Maggie a smile, gesturing to the teachers assembling their classes into lines, "I'm sure it's just an accident – you know, sometimes the alarm is knocked or whatever. Nothing to worry about."

Michael was standing on the front steps with Sian. Tom approached them, spotting Josh with Lauren and Finn in their form line being registered. At least there wasn't going to be a repeat of last time; his son was doing much better now, and his friends were there for him.

"Any ideas, Tom?" Michael muttered.

"Nope. Are you thinking hoax?"

"Well," Sian looked unusually grim, "There's no Kyle or Tariq."

"Yeah. Have you seen, um, Nikki?"

"Have you not?"

"No."

Michael nodded, "I'm sure she's here somewhere. Why? Do we have cause for concern?"

"No, of course not."

"Mr Byrne!"

All three turned to face the steps, and saw Matt and Chalky striding from the building with Kyle and Tariq between them, grinning victoriously. Michael gave Matt a questioning glance, and he shook his head.

"They were in the cooler the whole time – I was there," Chalky said.

"Right," the head teacher was struggling to conceal his worry.

Tariq faced them, "Did you doubt us, Sir? That's not very nice of you, is it? Jumping to conclusions?"

"Down there, both of you. Join your classes," Sian told them quietly. They scampered off, glancing back over their shoulders, giving Michael greatly exaggerated smiles. Matt gave Tom's shoulder a pat and disappeared to join his class too.

Chalky hovered beside Michael, "Who's missing?"

"We don't know. It could just have been someone knocking the alarm? You know, they walked past, were pushed into it? Maybe they ran because they were scared they'd be in trouble?"

"Sir, Sir," Phoenix scrambled up the steps towards them, panic glistening in his eyes, "Scout isn't here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Phoenix," Sian laid a hand on his shoulder, her voice perfectly calm, "Calm down; I'm sure she's fine. She's probably just at the loos doing her hair, thinking it's a false alarm, yeah?"

"No, Miss."

"What?" Tom asked.

He glanced between the teachers, "She... she was upset. She got this letter, and she got proper angry, and started ripping it up. She... she was asking people if they had a lighter. She said she was going to burn it – she said she had to get rid of it. She just kept saying it."

"Who gave her a lighter?"

"I don't know, Sir."

"Come on – let's make this easy. Was it one: Tariq? Or two: Kyle?"

"Tom," Michael pulled him roughly away from the boy.

"Okay, Phoenix," Sian said, still softly, though she could feel her heart thudding beneath her blazer, and see her own worry reflected in the boy's wide gaze, "Thank you for telling us – you did the right thing. You go back to your line now; we'll find her."

He left reluctantly. Chalky followed him, and Sian was glad to see he led him to a quiet corner of the playground, where they sat down on the grass bank and began to talk. Chalky was so good with the kids, and he had so little confidence. What was going on in a school, when you didn't appreciate the teachers?

"I do not care if you hate them, Tom," Michael was lecturing, patches of rose warming his cheekbones, flecks of spit flying from his lips, "You do not share that opinion, and you definitely do not share it in front of the children."

"I'm sorry."

"Everyone we work for here is based on giving children chances. It does not matter where they come from, or what their past has held – they get a chance to change here; and if they get it wrong the first time, they get another chance. I thought you understood that, Tom."

Tom said nothing.

"If you don't – if you've lost that compassion – perhaps you shouldn't be here."

"Alright, Michael," Sian suggested, "Now isn't the time for this conversation. Tom, why were you worried about Nikki? Do you think something's happened?"

"I... she... You know she was in the army? She... she has flashbacks. She was depressed – she saw things, people died. And... I don't know."

"You think she might have reacted to the alarm as though she were in the army?"

"Yeah."

"So you think... could she be in danger?"

Tom took a deep breath, extremely reluctant to be doing this in front of Michael, but more concerned for Nikki's welfare than what she would say afterwards when she knew he'd spilled her secrets. He could deal with her anger, if he had to. He couldn't deal with her suffering.

"Yeah. I'm going to go in there. See if I can find her, and Scout."

"No, you're not, Tom," Michael grabbed his arm as he turned towards the main entrance, "Look, I didn't mean it. We need you, okay? I'm just worried too. I... You can't go back in there; we need to wait for the fire brigade now, okay?"

Tom shook Michael's grip from his skin, as though he couldn't bear to be touched, but he didn't make a further attempt to approach the school. They just stood there, the head teacher and the deputies, lost in time, lost in their thoughts.

Sian leant back against the pillar. For Michael to suggest they didn't blame Tariq and Kyle now, in their hearts, however they tried to disguise it or convince themselves otherwise, was a blatant lie. They did; they all did.

"God, where is she?" Tom whispered.

Michael sighed, "She'll be alright."

"She'll just be in the toilets too. Doing her make up," Sian smiled weakly at the image she'd conjured up in her mind, "Getting Scout to paint her nails in the colours of the rainbow."

Tom laughed, just because he needed to break the silence. The laughter sounded harsh in the air, as though it broke up the purity of the clouds.

"Tom."

He lifted his head from his hands. The way Sian spoke his name held the same desperation as it had when she'd run to the office having found Nikki collapsed in the canteen. He dreaded to think what he was going to have to face this time, but he took a deep breath and turned his head to follow her gaze.

XxXxX


	15. Chapter 15

**After what happened at my school yesterday, I've decided there is no need for _Waterloo Road_. Things happen in real life that could never be invented on TV. **

"_This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you."_

_~ Don McLean_

"Nikki," he was by her side in an instant, grasping her arm, desperate just to touch any part of her, to convince himself he wasn't dreaming. She was real, she was alive; he could feel her breath on his face, smell the scent of her hair.

She pushed him away. He stumbled.

"It's okay, Scout," Sian was murmuring, holding the sobbing girl, taking her aside, sheltering her from the glare of the eight hundred expectant students in the yard, "Good girl. You're safe now; it's okay."

"What happened, Nikki?"

"She tried to burn a letter, and the curtains caught fire," Nikki told Michael quietly, voice flat, with no more emotion than her telling him her report on the progress of the English department was complete.

"Where..."

"We put it out. It's fine."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. We're both fine."

Sian had slipped off her cardigan and draped it over Scout's shoulders, and they'd walked off together around the side of the school with Phoenix and Chalky close behind. The girl already looked calmer.

"You're bleeding," Michael said, his voice rising in pitch as he indicated Nikki's hand, "You're not fine. Did you burn yourself?"

"I'm fine. I'm _fine_."

Michael nodded. Maybe, if she repeated it enough times, she'd convince herself and her boss. Maybe.

The fire engine swung into the car park, lights flashing, the siren overwhelming everything: the talking, the screaming, the bird song. A couple of officers jumped out, and were quickly engaged in conversation with Tom. He indicated the school, evidently explaining. All three approached Michael and Nikki now.

"Tom," Nikki said, as Michael turned to talk to the fire officers.

"Are you okay?"

"Tom, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"It's fine."

She didn't say anything else for a long moment. His tone made it perfectly clear it _wasn't_ fine, and she supposed he was right, really. It hadn't been a hand push, but it had been vicious; her intentions had been perfectly clear.

"I'm sorry, Tom," she sank down onto the steps, not caring that they were wet, not caring that everyone watched her. He tried to speak again, but she shook her head. "I just... I was just... I'm sorry."

He sat down beside her. Whispered, "You frightened me."

"I'm sorry."

She didn't need to explain. He'd seen her eyes, when she'd pushed him. It had been an automatic reaction, a reflex, to get away from his hand, to hide from human contact. She'd be frightened, just as he'd been frightened.

"I'm sorry too."

"Why are _you_ sorry?"

"I shouldn't have touched you."

She nodded, "I find it hard. To trust people."

"I know. I didn't think; I just wanted to know you were okay."

"I don't... I don't_ not_ want you to touch me. I don't mind. I... I like to know you care. It's just... Please, don't let this ruin everything."

"Everything? Just friends, mm?"

"I have a lot of baggage, Tom – I've told you. It's difficult. But it doesn't mean... it doesn't mean you can let me push you away. I want you – I need you – close."

A shadow of a smile wavered on her lips as she finished that sentence. And he realised she'd never confessed that before; she'd said thank you, for what he was doing, and she'd said she was glad he was here, but she'd never actually outright said that: confessed that she wanted or needed him.

He realised it took a lot of courage for her to speak openly about it. He also realised that she was shaking, and that her hand was red raw where flames had licked at her skin. "We should talk about this later."

"Tom," she pleaded as he moved to stand up, "When people say _later_. What if there isn't a later? There's never enough time, and... you always end up with something you never got to say, and regrets, and..."

"Okay," he stayed still, "It's okay."

She closed her eyes, felt tears press against her lids. When they'd searched Kieran's body for personal belongings – although there was barely a body there, just a charred block of bones – they'd found things.

A photograph of them together. A letter to his parents arranging for a family gathering when the tour finished, so they could meet Nikki. A letter to her (estranged) father, asking for her hand in marriage. And the ring, protected by the box, a little scarred but beautiful, the diamond gleaming.

They would've been the happiest people in the world, but he never got to fall down on one knee – she knew he would've been romantic, because he always was – and ask the question.

The most honest, warm, friendly, intelligent... A man giving up his life for a country that had never repaid him anything. How was that fair? Why couldn't they have just had a little more time? One day? One night? The rest of their lives?

"Is she okay?" she heard Sian asking beside her.

She opened her eyes, "Yeah. I'm fine. Are you alright, Scout?"

The girl nodded, suddenly crouched down and threw her arms around Nikki, "Oh my God, Miss, I'm sorry. You... you saved my life."

"Of course I didn't. You would've been fine – you would've put it out."

"No I wouldn't. I was proper screaming."

Nikki smiled as she girl pulled away, "You were only _proper screaming _because I was there. You knew I'd do it. If you'd had to, you would've done everything I did."

"Who gave you the lighter, Jodie?"

"I don't know, Sir," she looked up at Michael nervously.

Tom laid a hand on her shoulder, "Scout, listen to me. Miss Boston is downplaying this – I know you're both okay, but this could have been really, really serious. You put yourself and everyone else here in danger? Do you understand that?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir. Miss."

"It's okay. You just need to tell us who gave you the lighter."

She nodded, glanced around the playground. Her eyes lingered on one corner for a moment before she turned back. "It was Kyle."

Michael watched Tom. His face didn't flicker. "Okay. Thank you, Scout."

"Sir, they're okay to go back inside now," one of the firemen told Michael, "Might want to avoid the English classroom at the far end until you've cleaned it up a bit, though. And maybe you'd think about arranging a health and safety talk in assembly?"

"Yes, of course. Thank you."

"My class?" Tom asked quietly.

He saw Nikki wince beside him.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Scout said.

"W... why?"

"I like your class."

Sian led Scout back away inside the school, and Michael began to shepherd the students back in too, shouting instructions as they passed him.

"She liked my class so much she decided to burn it down?"

Nikki smirked, then turned serious, "She felt safe there, Tom. I know it's probably not how you'd like to find out, but I don't think there's a much bigger compliment. They trust you; they all do."

"Do _you_ trust me?"

"Dad, Miss," Josh called as he approached them. He and Nikki hugged quickly. He looked at her. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks. Go on – go back to class now. I'll see you tonight, okay? I'll get your dad to buy a pizza, and you can give me a lecture on not playing with fire."

Josh smiled, but he stayed.

"I do," Nikki turned to Tom now, talking quietly. And she met his gaze, and he felt warmth fill his insides, trickle slowly inwards, make his heart pound in quite the opposite way to earlier. She leant in and hugged him, and he buried his head in her hair and wanted to cry all over again.

"Oh my God, Mr Clarkson and Miss Boston are having it on," Tariq called triumphantly across the emptying playground as he moved towards the steps.

"She's not a lesbian after all," Kyle shrugged, "Although it doesn't entirely rule out the bi thing, does it?"

"Are you not embarrassed, Joshy?"

"Is it not a bit weird; you know – your dad shagging everything in a skirt that passes through this school?"

Tariq lowered his voice, still grinning, "Surprised he didn't set the school on fire just to try and kill her, and get his daddy's attention for a bit."

"Yeah," Kyle considered, "Not surprised he's a bit odd, really."

That was the moment that Josh punched Kyle in the face.

The same moment that neither Tom nor Nikki made any attempt to stop him.

XxXxX

**Okay, maybe we still need _Waterloo Road_...**


	16. Chapter 16

**Just to say, I've got exams coming up and there's still all kinds of complicated chaos at school, so it could be a while before I update, sorry!**

**Again, just to say, I have SO much gratitude for _Never-Clip-My-Wings-x._ For her stories (everyone should read them), and her encouragement, and our conversations. "That is all." *squeak***

**ENJOY :)**

"_It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."  
>~ J.K. Rowling<em>

They were on the beach; they were in the sea. Paddling, splashing, hurdling the waves. She was wearing her red bikini, the one with the bow on the front, the one which showed off her tanned stomach. She wasn't fat or thin; she was curvy, toned, confident in her own body. She was happy.

Tom and Josh left the water – they played tag in the sun streaming down on them until they grew tired, and then they sat down and opened up their hamper, and ate their mini sausage rolls and jam tarts in the sand. Josh waved to her, and held up a bucket and spade, but she carried on swimming.

Someone else was further along the beach, drinking a cocktail – the glass was garnished with an orange segment and a pink paper umbrella. Kieran was watching her, smiling; their eyes met sometimes, and he beckoned her across, but she didn't want to leave the water. Not yet.

"Nikki?"

There were things in the water. It was murky, the reeds wrapping themselves around her angles and dragging her down. Something tugged at her arm; blinding pain, everywhere in her body, her eyes flickering, head spinning.

And Tom was on one side of her, and he was brushing back her hair. Her mouth was open, like she was trying to yell, but she couldn't. She was just swallowing more water. Kieran held her other arm, the injured one; he rocked her, tried to stem the blood. And both men were crying, or maybe their faces were just damp with the sea, and with sweat and blood.

But what really got to her – another bloody cliché, another piss-take – was not her own pain, but the pain of another. Josh was standing on the beach, still clutching the remains of a fruit scone. She could almost smell the fresh baking; they'd made them this morning, in the kitchen, and they'd been happy. So, so happy.

And she couldn't hear him, but somehow, through the tears and the pain and the murkiness, and as Tom and Kieran pulled her apart, she could see what he was shouting, over and over again, one word. _Mum._

"Nikki!"

XxXxX

"Nikki, what are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"I don't... Jesus, I don't understand, Nikki. What the hell's going on?"

Momentarily, she ceased gathering her possessions in her arms and turned towards Tom. He was sitting up in bed, the covers tucked around his chest, his piercing blue eyes heavy with sleep and confusion. Then she turned back and threw the clothes into her bag, followed by her leather-bound diary and her torch. She really didn't have anything to show for her life, did she?

"Nikki, please."

He was by her side, his hand on hers, warm, soothing. She fought the urge to throw him off, simply because she wanted him to care, needed him to care, about her. Like she'd said. How selfish did that sound? How cold?

"Nothing's going on, Tom. I'm fine. That's all – I'm fine now, there's no point me getting in your way any more. I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself now, and I'm very grateful for everything you've done for me, but..."

"Nikki..."

"Tom."

"Nothing happened. Between us, last night," he removed his hand, his voice suddenly cool, restrained, "Do you... do you remember? You were upset. You had quite a lot of wine. And you wanted..."

"What?"

"I don't know, maybe you wanted something to happen, or maybe it was just because you were upset and drunk, but nothing happened, because I would not take advantage of you like that."

She felt naked. She wasn't; her scarlet dressing gown still concealed her body, held her in its warmth, and her hair cascaded over her shoulders. But she felt as though Tom could see everything, knew everything; she couldn't hide, she had no privacy.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

She shrugged a shoulder. How childish.

"I woke up, and you were..." he touched her again, wrapped an arm around her shoulder, as though he wanted to comfort her, but wasn't quite sure how to go about it, "What happened? I know I can't ever fully understand, Nikki, but I want to help you. I'll do anything to make it easier – you know that, don't you?"

"Yes. I know. I'm sorry."  
>"You don't n..."<p>

"Yes, I do," she sighed, "I'm not sure when I'll be going back to school. Or if I will be. Maybe I'm just not cut out for teaching. I don't know yet."

"Nikki, just slow down a minute, and..."

"Tell Josh I've really enjoyed his company. Really appreciated it; he's helped me a lot. He's a very special kid," she smiled weakly, wiped her face with the back of a hand, "Look after him, won't you, Tom?"

"Will you just tell me what this is all about?"

"I'm going home. Do I need to give you an explanation for every little step I take now? Christ knows I'm messed up, but I don't need someone to hold my hand all the way, okay?"

He nodded. Then shook his head. Retreated to the bed, sat down on the edge, swung his legs a little. "Right."

"I can look after myself. I've done it before, and I'll do it again. I'm used to being on my own – it's how I like it."

"Right."

"So, I guess..."

"Do you expect me to just accept this, Nikki?"

"Well, yes, it would help."

He took a deep breath. "Nothing happened, okay? I don't understand how it's suddenly come to this. Yesterday... before you got pissed, everything was fine. I thought things were getting better – I thought you were feeling better, feeling safe."

"I was. I am."

"After everything, don't you at least owe me the truth? We... you know, I don't understand you at all. I don't even get how I'm supposed to help you, when you won't help yourself. I don't get it."

"Maybe you're not supposed to."

He didn't say anything, and she was grateful for that, because she could think of a million things he could've been calling her by now. Why did this man always make her feel so guilty? No more guilt; that was what she'd told Jess.

What was this, then? Why did she always hurt the people who cared? Why was everything falling apart? He just gave her a look; _if that's the way you want it, that's fine._ That look hurt her.

"I'm sorry, Tom. Okay? Thank you for everything, but..."

Why did everything in my life revolve around that word: _but_? I love you, but. I want to do this, but. Finding excuses for everything; hiding the truth.

"Do you know how hard it is for Josh to trust anyone, Nikki? And do you know how much he trusts you? Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Of course it does."

"So you're just going to walk away, just like that?"

She bowed her head.

"You know, Nikki, I thought... I thought you trusted me. I thought, after everything we'd been through together, after everything I've tried to do to make things easier for you. I thought there was something between us, and yeah, I know there's _baggage_, like you keep reminding me, and maybe you don't like me that way..."

"I never said that."

He ignored her interruption, repeating himself, his eyes boring into the side of her head, almost angry, "Maybe you don't like me that way, but I thought we were friends. I thought you understood that I would do anything to help you, that I would always be here if you needed me."

"I do. I do understand that."

"What the hell are you doing, then?"

"Nothing, I just don't want to cause you any more trouble – I need some space to think for a while. I still want to be friends with you, Tom; I'm really grateful for what you've done for me, I've said that. But... but this just isn't right."

_To be continued._

XxXxX


	17. Chapter 17

**I'm quite conscious of the fact that the hits on this story are decreasing steeply, and also that nobody reviewed the last chapter. I've got a few more chapters planned, but after that...**

"_An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind."  
>~ Mahatma Gandhi<em>

"_**Nothing, I just don't want to cause you any more trouble – I need some space to think for a while. I still want to be friends with you, Tom; I'm really grateful for what you've done for me, I've said that. But... but this just isn't right."**_

"No. Nothing's right, is it? Nothing's ever right."

"What," she raised her head, her eyes flickering with frustration too now, confused by his tone, "Exactly do you mean by that?"

"Maybe you don't understand, Nikki. Maybe you've never had the chance to experience it – maybe you just don't know. But you cannot treat people like shit. The world does not revolve around you; you can't mess people around, play with their minds, make them think things, then bring everything crashing down."

There was a long silence. She cradled her teddy bear to her chest, feeling its rough, worn fur against her skin, taking in the musty warmth. The toy was the only continuity she had. Everyone wanted to feel as though things would stay the same; everyone wanted security and assurance. She had none of that.

"And that's what I've done, is it? Brought everything crashing down? Played with your mind? What am I supposed to have made you think? How have I treated you like..." she paused, flinched, "Like shit?"

"Oh, forget it."

"Tom..."  
>"No, Nikki, I'm sick of this. I don't want to be messed around. I thought you were different, but you're not. You're just the same as them all," he snapped, standing up, taking the bear from her, dumping it in her bag, "Everyone says I'm too soft, you know? I just want people to be given a chance; I want to see the best in them. I'm sick of being punished for trying to be a nice guy."<p>

"Tom, you are a nice guy."

His features softened for a moment. Then he shook himself. "I don't give a damn what you do to me, but I care about Josh, and this is going to hurt him so much."

"I'm not going anywhere, Tom."

"You're moving out, for Christ's sake."

"So I'm not going to be in the house any more. So what? That doesn't mean anything, does it? Nobody to wake you up in the middle of the night. One less mouth to feed. A choice of TV in the evenings, when I can't hog the remote."

"I admire your optimism."

He zipped up her bag, held it out to her. Stood up and began to pace the room, backwards and forwards, as though he couldn't bear to stand still, as though he needed to keep moving or everything around him would move. He didn't understand.

"You are blowing this out of proportion."

"Oh, am I?"

"Yeah," she said, "You are."

Last night, they'd been curled up together in the same bed. They hadn't slept together in any other way, because she'd been drunk and upset, and he would never take advantage like that. But they'd slipped on their pyjamas, and she'd lain down beside him, and their bodies had touched, just two layers of clothes stopping their flesh touching.

"Okay, then. I'll make it perfectly clear to you. I will not be messed around any more. Did you get that? Not too complicated for you?"

"Why are you being like this, Tom?"

"Why do you think?"

"Can we just..." she cradled the bag, indicated the bed beside her, wanting him to sit down. He was making her nervous, frightened, furious. He was making this conversation unbearable. "Can you sit down?"

"No. I can't."

"What is this? You... I thought you liked to see the best in people, Tom. All this time, you've been so sweet with me, looked after me, never got cross even when I deserved it, and suddenly you turn on me when I need your support the most?"

For Tom, Nikki lying in his arms had meant something. It had been the step towards their new life – her accepting that she liked him, that there wasn't any reason for her not to like him; they didn't need to hide away any more. They were good together. He knew that. When she was with him, he didn't feel so lost any more.

"I'm just making it clear that I won't let you hurt Josh."

"This isn't about Josh, is it? This is about you."

"Given that Josh is my son, of course it's about me as well."

She shook her head, felt dizzy, sick.

Tom was in full flow, letting everything that had been stored up inside him for so long pour out. He felt light, as though he was free of the confusion and the anger that had plagued him for so long, stabbed at his insides.

At the same time, with every word he was speaking, with every secret that fell away, he was losing something. He was losing a part of himself. He'd been hurt so many times, but he'd finally thought he'd found someone who understood, who needed his support, who would support him in return. Someone who loved Josh, someone who shared his passion for English. She was everything he'd ever wished for; everything he'd never had before meeting her. But now it was all falling away. But, but, but.

"I'll still see you at school, Tom. I'll see Josh too," she sighed, "He can come round to mine in the evenings, if you're busy – we can watch TV, make cakes."

"So now you want to steal my son from me?"

"What the hell is it with you? You are... you are never like this. You're just jealous, Tom, aren't you? I don't know what the hell it is that you're jealous of, but you are. Jealous that I'm trying to sort myself out and move on; you're feeling insecure about yourself now you won't have anyone else to pity."

"Oh, don't worry, I'll still pity you."

A wave of shock rippled across her face at the spite in his voice. She searched his eyes for love, for compassion – the things that were ever-present in Tom. She looked for guilt and remorse too; the sign that he didn't mean what he was saying, that he was just upset. She saw none of it, no warmth at all. Nothing except anger.

She sniffed, "This is stupid."

"You said it."

"I'll come back tomorrow, when you've calmed down."

"No."

"No?"

He shook his head, "If you leave now, you don't come back."

"Is this payback? I'm truly sorry if I've hurt you, Tom."

"I'm sorry too, Nikki, but I can't put up with this any more. You leave me alone. You let Josh move on with his life; you don't lead him on, or pretend you care. You treat me normally, as though none of this happened, as though we're just colleagues."

She nodded, "Right."

"Good. I'm glad we've sorted that."

"I won't... I won't come back, then."

"Probably not a good idea."

"Okay. Tell Josh..." she stood up, leant back against the wall suddenly, overcome by the situation, filled with pain, "Oh, it doesn't matter. Tell him what you like."

"Yeah."

"See you, then."

"Bye."

XxXxX

**...perhaps this fanfiction should just conclude.**


	18. Chapter 18

**I'm thinking about**** doing a mini fic, I've kind of outlined a plot in my head, but I can't decide who I should write about. If anyone has any particular character they think doesn't get enough stories in Waterloo Road, or any particular character you'd like a story about, feel free to suggest them ;')**

"_Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen."__  
>~ <em>_Winston Churchill_

"You okay?" Sian asked softly.

It didn't take a genius – or a rocket scientist, as his mother had always said – to see that he wasn't, that asking that was pointless. He'd tensed, sat forward at his desk, abandoned his work. All at a tap on the door.

Things bubbled inside of him to consider it, but when he forced himself to accept the truth he knew what it meant, this feeling. He hadn't moved on; he'd barely stopped thinking about her for a moment since she'd left. Her words still echoing in his head, the guilt unmerciful.

"Yeah. Fine."

The woman who shared his office and his job nodded, turned towards the door, projected her voice, "Come in."

He knew it was her before the door had opened, before her head had appeared nervously around the frame, her eyes locked onto Sian's so she didn't have to look at him.

He knew because he'd memorized everything about her, soaked it all up, wanted to remember. Every dimple and curve of her body, every movement and mannerism. Her knock: professional, careful, gentle. Like her.

"Hi."

"Hello, Nikki," Sian smiled, "How are you?"

"Good, thanks."

"Back at work now?"

"Yeah," her eyes darted around, from floor to desk to window, never hesitating for long. She didn't look at him. "Yeah. I just..."

Sian stood up, invited her in with a wave of her arm, seated her at the side of the room by the window. The sun shone down, revealed a pale face, eyes reddened with lack of sleep. No change there, then. Still up at all hours vomiting. Only now she was alone in it; nobody there to hold back her hair and whisper encouragement.

"Coffee? Tea?"

"I'm okay, thanks."

Sian picked up on the tremor, just as she'd picked up on Tom's shock. Sian picked up on a lot of things. "Your hand looks sore. Is that from the fire? You should've gone to the doctors – it doesn't look like it's healed very well. You've really been in the wars, haven't you?"

Nikki smiled weakly. Wars. Another reason why she hated clichés (yes, there was plenty); because of the connotations. Wars. Children screaming, and hatred filling the world. Seeing people die – holding your future husband as he took his last stuttering breath. Never being able to move on.

"Did you want to talk to Tom?"

"Yeah. Sorry; I can come back, if it's not a g..."

"No, no. It's fine," Sian brushed Nikki's shoulder gently, "I need to go and speak to Michael anyway. There's a first aid kit in the cupboard – I'm sure Tom will sort out your hand, Nikki. I'll leave you to it."

There was absolute silence following the close of the door.

"Hi," she whispered, eventually.

"Hi."

"You okay?"

"Yep," he closed his laptop, leant his elbows on it, stared across the room away from her blankly. He was not okay; she knew that as well as he did. That was life. "You?"

"Yeah. Fine, thanks."

He couldn't even remember what he'd said to her that morning. It was a safety mechanism, to forget things it hurt you to remember, to block them out so the details were blurred, and left only an emptiness where there was once pain. Sometimes he wondered about human bodies. Personally, the emptiness hurt him more than the pain.

"You enjoying the peace and quiet of being at home, then?"

"I..." she looked nervous, "Yeah, it's good."

"Nikki?"

"Look, I... I didn't go home. I'm staying in a hotel at the moment – I just couldn't face... I don't know. I think it's safe to say I'm pissing off the people next door, anyway, being up all night. But at least it means I don't have to worry about meals or cleaning or anything like that."

"I thought the whole point was you wanting to be alone."

_Tom, you are a nice guy_, she'd said. He remembered that bit.But no; he was a bastard. Not _oh, Nikki, I'm sorry_ or _I should never have said those things _or_ please come back home_. Just complaining again, sounding jealous and bitter, and as though he didn't give a damn about her. Only about point scoring, like she was a toy.

She nodded, said nothing.

"Sian's right. You should've gone to the doctors; that looks bad," he stood up, took the plastic box from the cupboard, laid it on the desk.

He'd done this the day Nikki had left, rifled through his own first aid kit for something, anything, to numb him. Found the Paracetamol was out-of-date. Cried himself to sleep.

It was as though she was his wife or something; as though she'd been sleeping with someone else, as though she'd walked out on him after twenty years of marriage. How immature was he? She'd just been a friend, just been staying for a few weeks until she felt better. She'd kept her side of the bargain; it was him in the wrong.

"Let me see," he held out his hand for hers, began to wipe the injury with antiseptic, trying to clean the dirt. He'd meant to be gentle, but she winced, pulled away, shook her head.

"Don't, please."

"Sorry," he said. Didn't sound at all apologetic.

She was shaking; she was hurt, scared, upset. And he just stood there, invading her personal space, making everything worse. Was it him she was frightened of? She shied away like an abused, abandoned puppy; she couldn't defend herself.

"I always," she paused, looked up at him as though she was begging for compassion, "I always cried when my mum wiped my knees after I'd fallen over. Never when I fell, just when she tried to clean the cuts. I didn't like blood, when I was little. And I didn't like being touched. I was scared of lots of things, really; they called me Mouse."

"I can think of worse names."

"I liked it. I always wanted to go to Disneyland and meet Mickey and Minnie, one day. My lifelong ambition."

Why did it feel as though she was pouring her heart out to him? Talking about dislikes and dream holidays – it sounded so dull and standard. He felt as though everything she said was a metaphor, as though he was supposed to understand. But there was just blankness; he had no idea what was going on or what she really wanted him to know.

They were different worlds now, separated by ceaseless stars.

"This hotel, then." He dropped the antiseptic wipe into the bin by the desk, took her hand back in his, began to bandage it in white material, smothering the injury. "It does better breakfasts than me?"

"More expensive, certainly."  
>"That'll be interesting on a teacher's salary."<p>

"Well, I've got nothing else to spend it on, have I?" she shrugged. They both knew what she meant by that. No chocolates or champagne or DVDs to buy for a romantic night in with a guy she loved.

_Keep focused, Tom. She doesn't want anything to happen between us. Just be friendly, just sort out her hand, nothing more. Don't show how you're really feeling inside._

"I'm sorry, if I overstepped the mark the other day," he said. _No, Tom. No. Avoid talking about that. Talk about the weather._ "You're right; I was blowing it out of proportion. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's okay. I don't mind being banned from entering your house, or talking to your son," she smirked, "I was being an ungrateful cow, Tom – it's not your fault."

His hand slipped on the bandage. She pulled away again, her face screwed up in pain.

He didn't understand this woman. She'd been in the army, been shot at, starved, left alone to fight for her life. Could've died alongside her friend in the bombing, could've been paralysed. And she was hysterical about a bit of blood from a scrape on her hand?

"I'm hungry," he stuck a pin in the bandage before she could object, dropped her hand and tidied up the box again, "Want to come down to the canteen, get something to eat?"

"Can't we stay here for a bit?"

Oh, so that was it? She was ashamed to be seen with him, afraid of the rumours and the pointing fingers in the corridor? He'd thought she was better than that, more mature, less weak. Teachers were there to teach. Being liked was a bonus.

Was it a bad thing to want to be liked, though? To aspire to be someone children trusted and looked up to and dreamt of being like when they were older? Of course not.

"Sorry," she gave a half-smile, like she'd scanned his mind and intercepted the first paragraph of his thoughts, but not the second, "I just keep thinking of Kyle and Tariq. _Hiya, gorgeous._ The looks; the jeering. I know they're only school kids, and I know I'm a coward, but..."

"You're not. A coward, I mean."

"No. Just a mouse."

He smiled, nodded. Was that the reason she'd moved out, been unwilling to go further in a relationship? She was going to let two boys' spite ruin her life, his life; their life?

So many questions. Him and her, he and she: they. The kind of togetherness they didn't have, maybe wouldn't ever have. They were torn apart by secrets and lies, hurt by the past and by their baggage. So busy trying to help each other and everyone else that they never knew what they wanted themselves.

"Why don't we go out for a walk instead? Get a drink in Starbucks?"

"Yeah. Good idea," he looked relieved, yet almost nervous at the prospect, as though he'd asked her on a date. His heart was hammering against his ribs too.

Damaged goods; they both were. Tom just hadn't discovered quite how extreme the damage was for Nikki yet.

XxXxX


	19. Chapter 19

_*reads my work* "It's about love and death, isn't it? Everything is about love and death in the end." ~ My old English teacher._

**This is a very mixed up chapter; sorry if it's difficult to read – in both the complicated sense and the subject matter – but the idea is that Nikki is in a very mixed up place at this point, so maybe it reflects that. I don't know. Again, it comes with an angst warning, like chapter thirteen. I've probably put you off reading it at all now. Sorry. It's not that bad.**

She told him everything. Everything; such a small and simple word for something so vast and complicated. A tangle of wires, a road that wound through dense woodland.

About her childhood, about her father hurting her mother – and then her, later, when she tried to intervene – about her and Jess making a pact to always be there for one another no matter what.

About her struggles at school, about the bullying, about the pressure to perform well. About adoring English, hiding away in books and words, playing music loud so she couldn't hear the screams downstairs.

Hating classics because her father had read them to her and Jess in his office before he hit them. Always feeling alone, feeling unloved, because her younger sister got attention from her dad, and she craved the concept of feeling wanted, and knowing you had a place in the world. Too young to see that the special treatment her father gave Jess was twisted, would rot her insides, kill her.

Jess going off the rails. Strangled by the wires, lost in the woods. Drinking plenty, eating nothing. Drugs and smoking and sex. Nothing Nikki could do; nothing anyone could do. Sitting there by the bath as her sister washed away the traces of her father from her body, but nobody could wash away the damage it had done to her soul. Nobody could rid her of the baby she carried now, inside of her, sharing her blood; her father's child. Nikki a sister and an aunt.

Her father leaving.

Baby Lucy dying, the most loved child in the world, the most treasured and protected, oblivious to everything. Asleep when the car had been crushed by the drunken lorry driver, pain-free, innocent; never having to grow up to the truth, never getting the chance to understand.

Jess dying.

Her mother dying.

Being scared of love, being scared of commitment. Never trusting anyone. Frightened of human contact, of flesh on flesh; frightened of blood, the pictures that wound never, ever, ever leave her mind. Haunted forever.

The army. Wanting to feel solidarity in the solitude, wanting to somehow avenge those horrible thoughts and feelings, wanting to make something of herself for those who never would be anyone. Being free; flying, soaring.

The poetry, all around her; the stories her fellow soldiers told. Full of self-worth, proud to be fighting, protecting her country. The sorrow and the loss, the bad days when she sank down into the depths of the trenches, and the good when she ran with the birds.

The first time she'd killed a man. His blood on her hands.

Sitting out at night, the gunfire ceased, the world at peace. Sharing the heaven, the stars. Great roaring fires, warming their hands, eating toasted marshmallows; the laughter and the tears.

Meeting Kieran. Having someone to confide in, someone to trust absolutely. Knowing that this man loved her, that his kisses were passion and tenderness, and not the perverted pecks of an old man who did not deserve children of a family or happiness.

Lying in his arms. Forgetting the world. Being truly happy. The first man she'd slept with, and the last. Constant reassurance, adoration; linking hands, playing cards, sharing memories. Never pushing away the past, but not letting it cloud the future either.

His death. _I love you more._ The time during which she'd lain in the military ward, in excruciating pain physically, barely strong enough to raise her head. The mental numbing, the pleas for death, nobody and nothing to fight for. Wishing she was with the people she loved.

The ring loose on her finger, her ribs sticking out, her cheekbones stretched the skin. Refusal to speak, refusal to care what happened now. The violence, the screaming, the tears that would not fall. Psychiatrists, doctors, random people in the street trying to help.

Curling up in the middle of Tesco's because nobody could change the fact that he'd never buy her value-brand chocolate again, never melt it in the midday sun and feed it to her on a spoon, licking the residue from her lips.

Kieran's eyes boring into hers, the deepest shade of beautiful. _I love you more. _Him reading poetry to her in the evenings when she couldn't sleep, his voice a husky murmur, his lust for life and for her glistening. War poetry, sometimes.

She hadn't gone to his funeral; she'd been too ill, and too detached to care. Another defence mechanism. It was a shame she hadn't defended him. He'd died on his birthday – that ate at her every single time.

Afterwards, she'd hated herself; actually, she'd never stopped hating herself for not going. Not saying goodbye. _I love you more. _There'd been a real military procession, she knew; soldiers lining the streets to pay their respects.

Someone had brought her a photograph from the paper, trying to show her how to grieve; the coffin, shrouded in a Union Jack, his parents crying in the background, flowers everywhere. She'd torn it to shreds.

And that letter. The letter she knew off by heart, word for word: the letter she recited day and night. Her grounds for holding on to what she had, her way of grieving for the man she'd adored and remembering their time together.

Letting go, moving on, going back, clinging to the precious remains of his being. Fading all the time, his face becoming murky, his eyes shallower. Panicking when she realised he was slipping through her fingers, and she was absolutely powerless to do anything about it.

She'd never forget the last words, his last breath, wasted on her. Inadequate. Never good enough for him. _I love you more._

_Dear Dave, _he'd written.

_ I'm not sure if you'll ever get this letter, or if I really want you to, but I had to write it._

_ I know everything about you, and yet you don't even recognise my name. I know your favourite colour was blue, like your daughters' eyes; I know you loved classics, Wuthering Heights, all of those. I don't understand why you did what you did, to your family, and I never will. I don't know what went through your mind when you did those things._

_ You haven't seen Nikki in a long time now. After you went to prison, she cut her hair short. She fought through all the pain after everything with her mum and Jess and Lucy; she got back up and she carried on. She joined the army. I bet you wouldn't have approved of that – a man's job, isn't it? She's braver than I will ever be._

_ By the time you receive this, I will have proposed to Nikki. We'll marry in the summer, if she accepts, and after this tour we'll go somewhere warm on honeymoon, and nothing will matter except being together. She is the most beautiful girl, and the sweetest, and the cleverest. I love her more than I can say. Maybe you understand that, loving her._

_ She loves you, too. Whatever you did, she loves you. And I can never forgive you for what you did to her, but I can thank you for bringing her into the world. This isn't me asking permission, but you ought to know – your eldest daughter will be married, and slowly I can replace all that hurt you caused her with love._

_ What is it that Catherine says in Wuthering Heights? **If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it. **_

_ I promise you that I will look after her, and I will love her, and we won't be apart until the day I die. I don't want to live without her. She won't ever know what it's like to be lonely again._

_ Best wishes,_

_ Kieran._

XxXxX


	20. Chapter 20

**Slightly more fluffy again ;')**

**Forgot to say last chapter for the chapter before... um, I've made that**** sound complicated... anyway, a belated happy birthday to **_**SandraPickles**_**. And also a particularly big thank you to **_**niamheyxx**_** and **_**PeaceIsPerfect**_** for their lovely messages.**

**You're**** all really fussy, aren't you? You want more Tom & Nikki, then more Tom & Josh... well, for anyone who was requesting more of Josh in the next few chapters, you might just be in luck:**

_A gift consists not in what is done or given, but in the intention of the giver or doer.__Lucius Annaeus Seneca_

"Happy birthday, mate!"

"Thanks," Josh smiled.

"Hope you have a good day!"

"Josh! Happy birthday!"

He took the presents thrust at him, returned the smiles. Tried to seem as though he was relaxed, cheerful, pleased to be there. He'd got quite good at pretending, recently, and nobody seemed to notice that underneath he just wanted to go home and sleep.

His father had organised this party. To prove that he loved him, and that they'd work through all their problems together, and that everything would be okay. It was a lovely idea, but Josh didn't need that; he didn't need Tom to make a show of it. All he wanted was a night in watching the X Factor, or another day like the one they'd spent in the park, eating ice cream. Just talking.

"Hey."

"Hey, gorgeous."

Lauren fired him her trademark deadpan glare, "You're gay."

"But if I wasn't..."

Finn sank down on his other side, took a bottle of something brightly coloured, "You alright, mate?"

"Yeah. Cool."

He didn't feel so alone with his friends around him; everyone here wanted to help him celebrate his birthday, all wanted him to have a good time. Still he felt as though something was missing from inside of him, like there was a blank space.

"Josh," Scout called in a high-pitched tone across the room, "Can we play pass the parcel now?"

"Maybe in a bit."

He hadn't quite forgiven his classmate for what had happened with the fire. Maybe it wasn't entirely her fault, because he knew better than anyone what it felt like to be so confused and frightened that you didn't know what you were doing, but Nikki could've been badly hurt. He felt a sense of duty towards the woman, like he needed to protect her from harm.

Which was perhaps why he felt so bad now. Nikki had left, hadn't even said goodbye. After everything they'd been through together – she'd done so much for him, and he'd done all he could for her too. He thought she'd forgiven him, thought she trusted him. He'd almost grown to adore her like a mother, but like a friend too; someone there to guide him _and_ have fun.

He knew Tom was really upset. He wasn't quite as good as his son at hiding the truth, particularly from the people who loved him. Josh could see in his dad's face, in the way he spoke and the way he moved, that he loved Nikki, and that he was devastated that she'd suddenly left.

He wouldn't talk about it. Josh wondered if they'd had a fight; he'd heard them talking together in the bedroom in the evening, but maybe one of them had wanted sex and the other hadn't. It sounded so crude, when he put it like that. Everything ruined over a little fallout. His life in shreds, again.

"Open your presents, then, Josh," Lauren nudged his arm, "See what I got you. I hope you like it."

He ripped paper from the parcels, a smile fixed on his face, expressing his gratitude. Chocolate, PlayStation games, money. Finn had bought him a new football shirt. Lauren had got him a bracelet, silver plated, a Celtic plait. He wouldn't have got through the year without these people, and he wouldn't get through the next year without them either. He hugged them both.

Finn looked only semi-embarrassed, "Where's your dad, anyway? Thought he wanted to do a speech or something?

"Yeah, he recruited me to do the toast after," Lauren leant across to fix the bracelet to his wrist, "What am I supposed to say, like? Happy birthday?"

"Whatever you want," he shrugged, "I don't know – I guess he's got something to do at work."

"Hello, birthday boy," Sian appeared behind him, ignoring the wolf-whistles from a couple of the boys at her bare legs and low neck-line, handing him a present perfectly wrapped with a rainbow ribbon, "Having a good time?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Miss. Didn't know you were coming."

"You're very welcome. I just thought I'd pop in and make sure you were behaving yourself."

"Here, Miss," Lauren handed her a drink.

"Thanks."

"Where's Mr Clarkson, Miss?" Finn asked.

She took a sip of the drink, biding her time, seeing the three sets of impatient eyes locked onto hers, "He had something to finish up in the office. I'm sure he'll be here soon. How about we have a game whilst we wait for him to arrive? Pass the parcel?"

"Yes!" Scout agreed.

Finn uncrossed his legs and shuffled down onto the floor; everyone made a circle, like toddlers again, chattering and laughing, waiting for Sian to start the music, "Is Miss Boston coming?"

"Don't know," Lauren shrugged, "Josh?"

"She might not be feeling very well.

"I saw her in school this morning – she looked fine."

His eyes widened, "She was in school?"

"Yeah. I heard her saying to Mr Byrne she was feeling better now, that she thought she'd be fine to teach again or something. I don't know, she was smiling; she looked good," Finn wrinkled his nose, "I thought she lived with you, man? Didn't you notice when she got into the car?"

"No, it..." he trailed off, took the parcel and passed it on again. Tried to work out the contents of the prize from a brief squeeze. He remembered opening crayons and teddy bears as a little boy at his birthday parties. He hadn't known his dad then. That was hard to believe now, really.

"What?"

"She went back to her house."

Lauren looked confused as the music stopped. She began to take a layer from the parcel, "I thought your dad and her were an item?"

"I guess not. She was just staying until she was better."

"Right."

"Lauren, pass the parcel on," Sian called across the hall, turning the music back on. When she next stopped the music, the parcel had reached Scout: she clutching it, pawing at the paper excitedly.

Finn smirked, Lauren smirked, Josh didn't ever appear to notice. The music was loud; words could barely be exchanged across the circle, and both his friends leant in to hear him, muttering words, random phrases, unconnected from each other. _I don't understand. Why did they do this? It's hot in here._

"What's up, mate?"

Josh shrugged at Finn, "Nothing."

"Who did what?"

"Nothing."

Lauren took his arm, helped him up. Finn followed them out of the room as a cheer went up: Trudi had just won the present, a bag of Maltesers. She ripped it open and passed them round.

Nobody noticed the trio of teens leave except Sian, and she had the discretion to turn away and arrange a game of musical statues whilst she tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

XxXxX


	21. Chapter 21

**How many people is there that read this story – maybe even alert/favourite – and have never left me a review? Any of you fancy telling what you think? ;)**

_Being strong sometimes means being able to let go._

Tom had finished his coffee a while ago. He clutched the empty cup, crushing the remaining heat between his fingers, not daring to stand up and reach for the bin. Nikki held hers too, but it was untouched, the liquid visible through the plastic, a dark horizon against the lid.

It wasn't just her coffee that had grown cold. Everything, the dew in the grass, the clouds, surrounded them like a threat, a bitter reminder of things they wanted to forget. Silence hung between them, words frozen behind quivering lips.

"How's Josh?"

"Okay. Good, yeah."

Nikki nodded, fumbled in her handbag. A parcel, small and rectangular, deep red wrapping paper, little black stars on the tag. She held it out. "Will you give him this, please?"

Tom took it, flipped the label. _Josh._ "What is it?"

"A book. A notebook – like mine. In case he ever needs to record things for when they're easier to deal with, to remember when it's less raw. Sometimes you just need to get it all out."

"Okay."

"I know it's not much, and if you don't want him to have it that's okay, but..." she trailed off, hugged her knees up to her chest with her free hand, huddled like a child on the bench by his side, "The card's inside. It explains everything to him."

"Thank you."

"You understand, don't you, Tom?" she whispered.

She was small in her coat, trembling. Her feet tucked below her, black boots, a rim of white revealed before the trousers. So pale, like the lilies from the graveyard, like ghosts in the loft. As though she was slowly dying, slowly losing life inside. It would reach her heart eventually. Stone cold: no blood, no hurt, no love.

"I can't bear it if you don't. Please don't be angry with me any more – you're the only person left for me to turn to, the only one who cares, and I need to know you'll be there, or I'm alone, and..."

"I'm here. I understand."

"I love you. I do love you. But... but I can't do it. I just keep seeing his face, and the fire, and the blood. I just miss him so much. I loved him – it feels wrong, to be happy, to be alive, when he's lying in the ground, and he'll never do any of the things I can, and he'll never kiss me again. He never got the chance to ask; all those things you think 'oh, we'll have time later', and then you never get round to it, and it's lost forever."

"It's survivors' guilt," he sighed, his fingers aching in the tensed position of crushing the cup, no idea what to say or do, "It's natural; it's okay to feel those things."

"I know. I know."

What good would trying to comfort her do? How could you be comforted from something like this, so deep and cruel and painful? Something that tore your whole life apart, unfathomable.

Would Kieran have wanted her to be unhappy, to feel guilty? Would Jess have wanted her to dwell on the past and not move on? No, but why would she not? So many questions.

"He wasn't afraid of dying."

"I'm sure he wasn't. You were there holding his hand – he loved you, and he was happy. You couldn't have done anything else, Nikki."

"No, he told me he wasn't. He said he'd seen death before, and sometimes it was better than life. And that it was peaceful and free; you couldn't be hurting any more, once you were dead."

Tom nodded.

"He said he'd regret not being here to see what it was like, in the future, when things changed. He'd regret not doing things, not taking opportunities, and he'd regret being parted from the people he loved," her voice shook, "But he wasn't scared."

"Oh, Nikki..."

"There were so many things we never did. We were going to get a puppy, when we came back from Afghanistan – a little Springer spaniel. She was called Molly. She'd been trained for the army, but she just hadn't made the cut, and she was such a playful thing, and so loyal; she'd never leave your heel. She was so beautiful; her eyes were so intelligent. I don't know what happened to her. But I just... we just didn't have enough time together."

"There's never any time. There's never enough time."

Nikki shook her head, "There wasn't for us."

"Sorry," Tom stood the cup down on the bench, pulled his phone out of his pocket. The phone vibrating,_ Josh_ illuminated on the screen. "Sorry, it's Josh. I'd better take this."

XxXxX

"Dad, where are you?"

"Sorry, Josh," Tom sighed, "I got... I had to do something."

_That doesn't answer the question._ "You said you were coming to my birthday party. Sian's doing pass the parcel and stuff, because Scout wanted to, but it's proper crap. You said you'd be here."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I thought Nikki was coming too."

"She... she's with me."

Josh closed his eyes briefly, leant back against the wall. Lauren and Finn stood in the corridor a few metres away, giving him space, but eyeing him anxiously, and talking in low whispers. Were they discussing him? How crap this party had turned out to be? How his dad was a crap teacher, and a crap parent? Maybe they were wondering why they were friends with him at all: a sad, lonely, psychotically deranged gay boy? Was that what he was to them now?

"Josh?"

And his father. Where did he even start? Letting him down so many times. Apologising like everything could be fine again immediately, because he knew Josh had no choice but to let him back into his life – it wasn't like he had anyone else to take him to the doctors and cook his tea, was it?

His birthday, though. The one day in the year when everything should have been cheerful and happy, celebrating his maturity as he approached adulthood, moving on from the past and looking forward to the future. That was what birthdays were supposed to be: forgetting about fallouts and pain, just eating cake, and playing pass the bloody parcel, if you really wanted to.

"Josh, mate?" Tom sounded concerned, "Are you there?"

Let him feel guilty. It was enough that he'd betrayed him, let him down again, disappointed, but Nikki too? She wasn't anything to Josh, and he tried to remember that; she'd walked out, and made it clear she didn't care about him or his father, and had only been staying whilst she recovered.

Despite that, he'd thought she was different. He'd loved her, like he'd never really had cause to love his own mother – she'd been so wonderful, treated him so kindly, always been there. He felt as though he'd known her all of his life. And now what?

"Josh?" Nikki had taken the phone from Tom. A soft voice, gentle. Trying not to sound worried, and failing – concern trickled into her voice. He felt some kind of twisted satisfaction: did this mean she cared? Was there a reason she'd abandoned him?

No. _No._ She'd walked out. She'd left him, like everyone else in his life. He couldn't trust any of them, not any more. She and his father were together, doing... doing things, and he was alone, and it was her fault.

"Josh, it's not your dad's fault. He had to help me with something; he did it... he did it because he's too kind to say no. You know that, don't you?

"Are you crying?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so selfish. He... he's coming now."

So many pauses in their conversation, the cracks showing.

Not answering the question, again. Any satisfaction he'd felt deserted him; his own voice sounded panicked, worried for her. "I... aren't you coming? You said you... I don't get it."

"I don't think that'd be a good idea, Josh. Your dad will be there in a few minutes – I hope you've have a good day. I'm sorry, I just... I'm sorry."

"Please?" he whispered, his voice breaking, "Nikki?"

The line had already gone dead.

XxXxX


	22. Chapter 22

Had English and Chemistry exams today, but surprisingly they went okay and I had rather a good day. The roof collapsed in the middle of the exam and fell on the invigilator's head, and overall there was plenty of banter ;)

Also, my Heather Peace album arrived; all I can say is wow. Nearly 10,000 hits on this story now, thank you so much xxx

**Chapter 22**

"_Planning is bringing the future into the present so that you can do something about it now." ~ Alan Lakein_

Nikki was making a list.

She was beginning to wish she hadn't used her fountain pen, for the ink had run where her tears had dribbled down onto the paper. The words were becoming illegible, just a pool of bluey-grey. She supposed that was like her head at the moment, really. Messed up. Nobody understood; she didn't even understand herself any more.

Her mother had left her the pen in her will. Beautiful, elaborate, engraved with the family surname: _Bolton_. Nikki's writing flowed from the nib as though it were appearing of its own accord, like it was under a spell.

Everything felt dreamy, though. Her head was throbbing so hard she couldn't really feel the pain, just a sort of numb nothingness. It was like one of those moments where she woke up on the floor in the middle of the night with no idea how she'd got there, curled up in a ball, shivering.

"Kieran," she mumbled, almost under her breath, holding the name against her lips, savouring the way the images of him made her feel. She reached across the desk and took her cup, gulping down the remainder of her coffee. It was bitter and cold.

She retched. Wiped her mouth.

_Positives:  
>He loves me. And I love him. I think.<br>I understand what Josh is going through.  
>I can't stay at this hotel any more – I need somewhere to go.<br>And I need to go somewhere where they have warm coffee._

When she was a little girl, perhaps nine or ten, she and Jess had sat in the garden under the cover of the oak tree, writing a list of positives and negatives for getting their ears pierced.

Jess thought it was a good idea: it looked pretty, it made them more grown up, it meant people wouldn't laugh at them at school for being different. But Nikki had disagreed: what if it hurt? What if their father didn't like it – what would he do then?

In the end, they hadn't had enough money anyway, so they'd gone round to one of Jess's friends' houses, and Jess had stood over the bath whilst a needle was pierced through their skin. Nikki had seen the blood. Sobbed, and begged them not to do hers; they'd called her a baby and locked her out of the bathroom.

Jess had spent two days in hospital for blood loss. Two whole days of freedom, eating the chocolates the nurses sneaked in for her, and watching TV in the toy room with another little girl who'd broken both her arms. Nikki had sat at home in her bedroom in the middle of the floor with her tear-stained teddy bear, and waited for her father to come upstairs and open the door.

_Negatives:  
>I can't betray Kieran.<br>I can't take advantage of Tom.  
>I can't see Josh go through all of that.<br>Everyone at Waterloo Road hates me.  
>I can get warm coffee anywhere.<em>

And so she came to the conclusion that the negatives outweighed the positives. She wasn't entirely sure what that meant. She fumbled around in her hotel room, throwing her teddy and her torch and her book into the bag – déjà vu – and checking under the bed several times for anything she might have forgotten. Then she wondered why. There was nothing to forget.

Where did she go now? She and Kieran had once talked about moving to Paris, once everything in the army was over – she'd been dozing on his shoulder at the time, her face smeared with mud, one of her hands sliced open, but she remembered the conversation perfectly.

_"I've always wanted to live in France," he'd whispered into her hair, "It would be perfect, wouldn't it? We could climb the Eiffel tour, and walk alone the Seine, and do all of those romantic things everyone in films gets to do."_

_ Nicki had nodded dreamily, "Eat croissants."_

_ "Naturally. Although maybe we wouldn't really need to be in France, as long as we're together. We could go to Africa, or Australia, or we could even stay here – anywhere you like."_

_ "I like the sound of Paris."_

_ "Yeah. Me too."_

That was a reason not to go to France, then. But they'd discussed going to New York too, to visit the Empire State Building, and have a ride in those yellow taxis. If she avoided everywhere he'd ever mentioned, she'd have to live on Mars.

No, they'd discussed Mars; _one day_, he'd whispered, _we'll go on one of those tours around the galaxy, and we'll be the first couple ever to kiss on Mars._ It was funny how you forgot things, all those little memories; things that seemed so trivial, but actually held your life together.

Kieran's childhood hadn't been very safe or secure either, but that just gave them more reason to dream of the things they could do together now they were free. And that just made it even worse that he wasn't here to do all those things with her now.

"Oh, Kieran," she muttered, "I don't know what to do."

Her phone rang. _Josh, _again.

"Hello."

There was a long pause before he spoke, almost as though he'd expected her not to answer, and so had to prepare what he was going to say, "Nikki."

"Are you... are you having a good birthday?"

"Yeah."

"Did your dad give you the present?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

In the pause which followed, she laid down her pen, and listened to his breathing on the other end of the line. Soft, sweet gulps of air. He was so innocent, but then it was generally children who were the innocent ones.

Where there were casualties – and there were casualties in all wars, whatever the circumstances – they were always the most innocent, always the children who suffered when they'd done nothing wrong.

"Nikki?" he asked, as though questioning whether she was still there. He didn't give her an opportunity to speak, though. "You know what, my birthday isn't good. It... Scout's sulking because Trudi won the Maltesers, and Finn had to go home early because his mum's ill, and..."

"Sounds like a normal _Waterloo Road_ party."

"And you're not here."

"It's better that way, Josh. It's better that way."

**To be continued.**

XxXxX


	23. Chapter 23

***previously, in Bleeding Love***

"_Sounds like a normal Waterloo Road party."_

"_And you're not here."_

"_It's better that way, Josh. It's better that way."_

**You have no idea how much I've always wanted to say that, like the man who did The Bill's voiceovers ;')**

**Chapter 23**

_Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,  
>For I would ride with you upon the wind,<br>Run on the top of the disheveled tide,  
>And dance upon the mountains like a flame.<br>~William Butler Yeats, "The Land of Heart's Desire," 1894_

She picked up the pen and spun it around and around in her fingers. It slipped, and she hit her hand against the desk as she tried to catch it. The pen hit the floor, and the casing threw the ink cartridge onto the floor, so that a tiny blue pool immediately formed at her feet. She mumbled, almost to herself. "Shit."

"What?"

"Just..." she laughed, suddenly amused by how desperate this was, and how stupid she sounded, and how beautiful the ink looked. Like a fairy's blood, pure and clear and sparkling, the shade of Kieran's eyes.

No. Kieran's eyes had been brown. Tom's eyes were blue, not Kieran's. Why did she think Kieran? "Oh, shit."

He seemed to be growing impatient, "What?"

"You're a good boy. You know that, don't you, Josh? You know that your father loves you very much, and that he would do anything for you, anything in the world. I think he would give up part of his soul to save yours, and perhaps he already has. And you might not always see eye to eye, but..."

Less impatient now, and more alarmed. "Are you drunk?"

She slipped down onto the floor beside the ink. Drew a little picture in it, a beautiful fairy with long blue wavy hair and perfectly formed navy legs below her pleated skirt. The fairy's face was a blob of ink, expressionless.

Nikki lifted the ink-covered finger up to her mouth, and sucked it. Just experimenting, remembering the times in her life when she'd defied people before. _Don't pour the water into the sandpit_, her primary school teacher had told them all, and she'd decided the sand was too dry to make a castle and tipped some orange juice in.

Was that really breaking the rules? Or just being creative? The teacher had been unimpressed, and so had her father, when he'd found out. That had been an interesting night for them all. But the school weren't to know – they'd thought he'd just give her a gentle telling off, stop her from watching TV for the night, perhaps. Not beat her, then move onto her mother for good measure.

Just a little girl. Casualties, victims, in all wars.

"Nikki?"

_Oh. Tom. _"You know I always admired you, Tom. I... I loved you, really. Because you were the only one who ever seemed prepared to give me a real chance, and I know we got off to a bad start, but I really loved you. And... and I'm sorry if I've hurt you, because I didn't mean to."

"Nikki, what's brought all this on? What's happened? You told me you were going to go back to the hotel and get some sleep, so we could talk everything through tomorrow. Do you remember?"

The ink tasted horrible. "And the children always loved you too, Tom, and of course Josh loved you, and I somehow felt as though I didn't fit in, as though I was interfering. And I always felt safe, when you were around, but Kieran always got in the way, and the past always ruined everything, and there was never enough time for us – like we said."

Tom was silent for a long moment. Nikki could hear voices in the background, Josh demanding to know what she was saying although he must've been able to hear her, because she was shouting now, trying to make herself heard above everything that was bouncing around in her head.

"Okay, Nikki. Just stay where you are, and I'll come and get you, okay, and we can go back to my house and you can have a bath, okay?"

"I don't want a bath."

"Well, okay. We can watch some TV, or we'll order a takeaway. Chinese again, or Indian this time, if you like. Or we could even have pizza – you like vegetable best, don't you? Josh could get a pepperoni, and we'll get some cheesy chips too, yeah?"

She listened silently. She could hear his voice growing gradually more hoarse, gradually more desperate. She raised a hand to her face again, smeared the remaining ink over her lips. Her teeth chattered.

"Or we can talk, if you'd like. Or we can play a game – we could play Monopoly, if you don't mind Josh sulking when he loses. Or we can even just go to bed, and in the morning we can go for a walk to the park and talk everything through. It's up to you, Nikki, okay? You can choose."

"I don't want to make any decisions. I'm sick of making decisions."

"I'll make this one for you, then. I'm coming to get you now, okay? Are you at the hotel?"

"You keep saying _okay_."

"I... what?"

"You keep saying _okay_. You said: _you can have a bath, okay?_ And then you said: _It's up to you, Nikki, okay? _And _I'm coming to get you now, okay?_"

Another pause. She could almost see him in front of her, his forehead furrowed in confusion, trying to understand what she was saying. She wondered if he was worried about her, genuinely worried, or if it was just the idea of so much paperwork that bothered him.

Considering the amount she'd had to fill in the other day when Tariq had cut his finger playing with a paperclip, she didn't blame him. She imagined how many forms that would take, to explain something like this, something like what she was going to do now. She saw forms everywhere, in front of her eyes, blurring her vision of Tom.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No, no," she pleaded. It wasn't his fault. He was going to be stuck with all this paperwork to do, and Josh was going to be upset as well. She was the one who should be sorry, for ever coming here, for ever interrupting his life. "No. This isn't right."

"No, I know it isn't. Where are you?"

"I'm sorry, Tom. I'm so..." she took a deep breath, "I'm so sorry."

"Nikki, just stop for a moment. Tell me where you are, yeah, and I'll come and get you. You don't need to act like this – it's not like you. Come on, what about all those things we talked about? I know, I know, it's been so hard for you, and I know there wasn't enough time for you and Kieran, and I know you can't ever forget him, but..."

"Don't say it. Don't say he wouldn't have wanted me to act like this. Oh, he would've wanted me to have a normal life, without him. He would've wanted me to move on, and for me to do all the things he couldn't ever do for him now."

She knew she wasn't making any sense. That was what hurt. There were so many emotions building up inside of her, and nobody understood when she tried to let them out. It was like trying to scream, but having no voice.

"And I would've got Molly and bought her a black leather collar, like we said we would, and then I could've gone to live in France, just gone up the Eiffel Tower and stood there alone and kissed mid-air, and..."

"Nikki, listen to me. I'm going to come in the car and drive round to the hotel; you get a bag sorted out, put your torch in again, in case you need it, and some clothes, and I'll come and collect you."

"No," she whispered, "Don't go."

"I'm not going, okay? I'm going to come and get you."

"But..."

"Sian's here; she's going to carry on talking until I get to you."

Nikki shook her head.

"Are you there?"

"I'm sorry, Tom."

"No, Nikki, don't s..."

"Tell Josh I'm sorry. And Michael, and everyone. I'm... I'm sorry. I... I loved you, Tom, and I'm just... I'm sorry."

"Nikki, listen to me; you..."

"Goodbye, Tom."

"No, Nikki – no, you..."

She listened for a moment, to the murmurings in the background. The _shit, shit, shit _and the _keep her talking _and the _oh my God_. Then she hung up.

XxXxX


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

**'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.**

**~ Alfred Lord Tennyson**

Tom was repeating it like a sort of chant. Maybe he thought that, if he said it often enough, a genie would pop out of his coffee cup, hover in front of him, and offer to grant three wishes. Josh wondered what his father would request.

He remembered watching Aladdin as a little boy, and thinking he was really clever because one of his wishes would've been to have as many wishes as he wanted. He smiled because of how childish that sounded now, but then he had been a child. And life had been so simple then.

"Shit, shit, shit," Tom was still mumbling.

"It's alright, Dad."

He wondered why he'd said that, because it was such an obviously empty reassurance that it did nothing but make them both worry more. If it was possible to worry more.

His second wish, when they'd had to write them down and illustrate them to go up on the wall display, had been that his mummy and daddy got back together, and that he got to play football with his daddy, and eat ice cream, and that everyone in his family was be happy again.

"I'm just..." Josh stood up, stretched. How long had they been sitting here, staring at the wall, praying? "I'm going to go for a wander round. And I'll go to the loo, and then probably have a look in the shop. Do you want another coffee? Dad?"

"Oh, no," he said distantly, "Thank you."

Josh nodded. Outside of the waiting room, the corridors were lit with a yellow glow; it should have felt soft and comforting on his skin, but somehow made him want to throw up the contents of his stomach. Actually, there was only coffee _in_ his stomach.

He splashed his face in the toilets. He thought about what the police had said. Told them – Josh, Tom, Sian, Michael – to be glad she'd been found, to be glad she wasn't one of those ones who ran away to do it, without any hope of a body ever being recovered. To apply the connotations of gladness to this felt evil, though.

They had to give statements tomorrow. He thought about what he'd be asked, and what his answers would be. _How was she when you last spoke to her? Did she give any indication of feeling suicidal?_

He'd asked her if she was drunk, for God's sake. No wonder she'd felt so alone in the world. Why hadn't anyone realised what she was going through before? Why hadn't he just pushed aside all his selfishness for one moment and talked to her? Why, why, why?

He went outside again. Hovered in the corridor for a bit, trying to hold himself together. He was too hot under his fleece-lined hoodie, his skin damp and sticky, but shivers ran up his spine constantly, making him want to stand under a boiling hot shower and take long, deep breaths.

He hadn't hugged Nikki very often, had he? He had after the fire incident, but maybe that had just seemed like an _I'm glad you're okay_ sort of hug. Had he ever actually told her how much she meant to him, or how much she'd changed his life, just by being there? No.

"Is everything alright, Sir?" a nurse asked him gently as she passed, a smile stretched across her lips, dimples in her cheeks.

Behind the cheerful mask, he saw the weariness in her posture, and the sadness in her eyes. It made him wonder why people tried to hide how they were really feeling. Because they were ashamed and embarrassed and scared. Because they thought nobody cared.

"Sir?" she prompted.

He was just a little boy, really. He still needed people to look after him; he needed Nikki to be there, to help him continue to turn his life around. He couldn't be called _Sir _yet – he didn't deserve that title like his father did at school. He hadn't earned that respect.

"Um," Josh shivered again, "Do you know anything about someone called Nikki Boston? She was... she came in earlier."

He saw the nurse's smile flicker; she recognised the name. His heart pounded against his ribs again. She regained her composure. "Are you a relative? Her son?"

"No, she..." he paused, wondered who she actually was to him. If he said she was a teacher, there was no way the nurse would ever tell him anything. And she wasn't just a teacher, was she? "We're not related, but she's sort of like my mum. I... I think of her as... as my mum."

The nurse looked sympathetic, "It's okay. I can go and check if there's anything new to report, if you'd like, but I'm sure you'll be told immediately as soon as there's anything to know."

"Yeah."

"Is there someone with you? Your dad?"

"Yeah," Josh nodded. This was so complicated. Everything about his life was complicated; everything about Nikki's was cruel and lonely. "But they're not together. Well, not really. It... he's really upset."

"Of course. I'm Sarah, by the way."

"Josh."

"Do you want to come this way?"

She led him around the corner. They passed the room his father was in, and he felt a twinge of confusion, but he continued. Sarah's fingers flew over the computer keyboard; Josh wondered if she'd been a secretary in an earlier life.

"Right, Boston. Nikki Scarlett Boston?"

Josh faltered. _Scarlett._ "Yeah."

She scrolled down the page, her eyes scanning something. Maybe it was just because everything in his life seemed to be running in double-time at the moment, or maybe because the record was genuinely really long – had she been in hospital a lot before? – it took a long time. Eventually she nodded.

"Okay, Josh. They're obviously running a lot of tests. I can't really go into details at the moment, but like I said, the doctors will keep you and your dad up to date with what's happening. They'll do everything they can to look after her, I promise you."

He nodded. Of course she couldn't tell him anything, really. She didn't know, and even if she did, he was too young, and it was complicated. All she was trying to do was console him, so he smiled. "Thanks."

Behind her, the doors marked with _resuscitation_ in large red letters swung open, and a doctor left the room, slipping off blood-smeared gloves and rushing away down the corridor.

The door shut again, but he'd seen enough in that split second to make him run to the toilets, and throw up until there really was nothing left inside.

XxXxX


	25. Chapter 25

**25 chapters, wow. Actually pretty impressed that I've managed to get this far, and obviously that's all down to everyone who gives me such lovely encouragement, thank you ;')**

**Chapter 25**

There was a shocked silence in the staff room as Michael entered. Every pair of eyes was fixed on the television in the corner, a little battered box with a cracked screen propped on a table.

"...we go live to the scene to find out more."

Michael gave Chalky a silent raised eyebrow, and he shuffled along to make room for his boss.

"I'm at Waterloo Road," the news correspondent was saying, talking directly into the camera in a monotone, with an expression that said _I'm pretending to be sad, but really I'm so bored it's unreal, _"This is the school where Nikki Boston taught as an English teacher."

"_Teaches_," Grantly corrected.

Michael felt a surge of affection for his colleagues, for how much they obviously cared despite everything that came between them.

"The school refused to comment officially today, but it's clear that everyone is shocked," he continued, as the camera panned to show bunches of flowers pinned to the school fence, "And many children who passed us this morning on their way into school told us she was a brilliant teacher and seemed very worried."

"Of course they're bloody worried."

"Ssh."

"Sorry."

"Despite her relatively short time at the school, she has obviously been a hit with the students, as well as a treasured colleague to the other teachers at Waterloo Road. There have been suggestions that she was in the army when she was younger – perhaps this was the stem of her obviously deep mental problems..."

"Oh, for Christ's sake."

"...but nothing has been confirmed as of yet. Anyone with information on Miss Boston, or with any insight into what happened last night outside Waterloo Road school, is urged to contact the police."

"I'm going to have to go and talk to them, aren't I?" Michael asked softly.

"Someone needs to dispel all of the crap they're being fed by the media, don't they?" Grantly told nobody in particular, flushed with indignation. To a stranger, he would've seemed like a grumpy old man who spent his life gossiping about other people – indeed, people who weren't strangers often thought he was a grumpy old man who spent his life gossiping about other people.

But they could all see today how deeply he cared about what had happened. They'd all been affected, in their different ways. Waking up, having their breakfast, taking their own kids to school – they'd been blissfully oblivious to the chaos unraveling at Waterloo Road, as police patrolled the grounds gathering evidence.

The radio stations blasting in their cars had been a rude wake-up call: _a teacher is in a critical condition after leaping from the roof of her school._ But worse were the speculations on TV, and the headlines in the papers – spiteful lies designed to shock and scare, and ruin Nikki's life. God, her life was ruined enough. She didn't need this any more.

"I'll come with you, Michael," Sian said.

"Thank you."

There was a general shuffling of belongings as the teachers gathered up bags and coats and headed for the exit. Today, a subdued silence hung over them; there was no banter about the football scores last night, or moaning about the marking they had to do in their free lesson.

Everyone was thinking about Nikki. Everyone was wondering why nobody had noticed she was feeling so desperately alone and sad, and what she must have felt like as she'd fallen into the stars. All wishing they'd done something to help.

"What are you going to say?"

"I don't know. I'll try to… I'll try to tell them the truth, but without frightening them."

Sian nodded, her eyes filled with compassion. She understood how responsible Michael felt; he was Nikki's boss, he had a duty of care towards her. Rationally, he knew he couldn't have done anything – she'd deliberately hidden her emotions from him, deliberately let it all build up inside of her, because she hadn't wanted anyone to know she wasn't coping. But irrationally, the nausea that came with ceaseless guilt was choking him.

"It's alright, Michael. She'll be okay."

"I really don't want to do it on my own today."

"No, I know. It's okay. I'll be there."

"Thank you," he said again.

XxXxX

The thing that got to Michael most was the expression on Josh's face. He was staring up at the stage, but he wasn't seeing anything; his eyes were blank, filled with tears that wouldn't fall. He didn't wear a tie today, and his collar was tucked into his shirt – normally, with Josh, a mere stray curl of hair would've driven him mad, but today he didn't care about anything. Nothing except Nikki.

In the hospital, in the early hours of the morning, he'd held himself together. Perhaps because his dad needed his support; when someone else was falling apart, you coped for them. But Tom had rung Sian and asked her to collect him, and once he'd left his father's side it had really begun to hit him. What he'd seen through those doors…

He couldn't sleep. He'd tossed and turned in Sian's spare room; he'd run to the toilet several times and submerged his face in icy water, just to rid himself of the images flashing through his mind. Sian had suggested he stay at home and watch _Jeremy Kyle_, but he couldn't. He couldn't be alone. He might do something stupid too – he might try to join Nikki, wherever she was now. He hoped she wasn't suffering; he hoped she was free.

"Will she die, Sir?" a little girl asked.

All he wanted to do was say no. To tell them Nikki would be absolutely fine; she'd skip back into Waterloo Road in a couple of days, her blue eyes gleaming with enthusiasm, her roughness disguising the gentle, loving attitude that lay underneath. But that wasn't going to happen, was it?

"Miss Boston is really ill," Sian answered for him, talking softly, "We're not going to lie to any of you – she suffered serious injuries. But the doctors are doing everything they can to help her; she won't be in any pain."

An older boy: "Why did she jump?"

"We don't know. She was obviously… she was very upset; she's had a difficult time," Michael sighed, wishing he could answer these questions, wishing he knew the answers, "Maybe she had a mental health problem. But you all need to know that it's nobody else's fault – none of you should feel as though you're to blame, for messing around in her lesson or anything. Nobody knew this was going to happen, and we're not going to help Miss Boston by feeling guilty, are we?"

Oh, he was a hypocrite.

"If anyone can think of anything that might help us understand what happened with Miss Boston, please come and find either me or Mr Byrne – we'll be in our offices, and we'll listen to anything you need to say, no matter how stupid or unimportant you might think it is," Sian stepped sideways towards him, as though she was comforting him silently, "And if any of you need to talk to anyone about what's happened, about suicide, there will be someone here too."

"We'll keep you up to date with everything that happens. In the meantime, can you all keep Miss Boston in your prayers, and…" he trailed off again. Took a deep breath. "And avoid talking to any of the TV people, please, just until we know what's happening properly. You can all stand up and leave silently now – thank you."

Josh's tears were falling freely now, rolling down his cheeks, soaking into his creased collar. Michael turned away, closing his eyes, blinking. Poor, poor boy. What the hell did they do now?

XxXxX


	26. Chapter 26

**What's all this with an image manager then? Honestly, you go on holiday for less than a week, and everything changes.**

**Back now, but obviously haven't written any more of this story for a while, so you'll have to bear with me.**

**_*Warning* - this chapter might really, really, REALLY irritate hardcore Tom & Nikki fans._**

**Chapter 26:**

'_And you won't understand but you will learn one day  
>That wherever you are and whatever you face<br>These are the people who'll make you feel safe in this world'  
>~ Tim Minchin [goes all fangirly again]<em>

"Please, let me see her."  
>Sarah gave him a sympathetic smile. He couldn't remember how many times he'd repeated those same words since Josh had left, but he knew he couldn't have counted the number on his fingers. <em>Let me see her. Please, let me see her.<em>

He'd organised a sort of routine, in the past few hours. Pace up and down the ward until his legs ached, then sit staring into white space until his bum ached. Go to the desk; ask anyone he could find how Nikki was, and whether he could see her yet. Pace, sit, ask. Pace, sit, ask. It was so simple, really.

"I'm sorry, Tom. Not yet."

They were on first name terms, then. He only knew her name was Sarah because of the badge pinned to her chest, but he vaguely recalled her introducing herself, probably several times. Every time he met her gaze, she looked more weak, more tired. She'd been here since he'd arrived, all through the night, and now well into the morning. All he'd had to do was pace, sit and ask, but she'd worked ceaselessly.

Keeping busy: that was the key to it. At work, if something upset him, he just focused on something different – once he was at home, he could pour his heart out to Josh, or alternatively sit on his bed and listen to trashy music, but whilst he was at work he had to keep on pretending he was okay. That was all Sarah was doing now, wasn't it?

"When?" he pleaded.

"I'm not sure."

"Please, just two minutes. I won't touch her – I won't interrupt the doctors. I just want to see her; I just want to see she's okay."

Sarah was silent for a moment before she replied. She laid down the file she was reading, slipped off her glasses, met his gaze with soft brown eyes. "But she's not okay. She's in intensive care – she's unconscious; she may have suffered brain damage, or paralysis. You need to start to accept what's happened. I'm sorry, but she's not okay."

_ She's not okay._ Oh God.

"Tom…" she said softly, "I've got a break now. You look as though you could do with another coffee; come on, we'll go and get one. They'll find us if anything changes with Nikki."

Once they'd bought their drinks – Sarah had insisted on paying, and Tom hadn't the strength to sustain an argument – they wandered along the corridor in silence. Sarah led him to an unknown doorway, held open the door, and he followed her without question.

Midday sunlight trickled in through the stained glass windows. Somehow, he still felt as though it was nighttime – he was frozen in the moment Nikki had hung up, not wanting to remember anything after that.

There were no windows in hospitals. He imagined how it must feel to be a long-term patient, never knowing if it was raining outside, having to rely on the content of the meal to decide what time of the day it was. Cereal meant morning, vegetables meant tea.

So what if you were too ill to have proper food, and lay there for days at a time staring at the ceiling, attached to a drip? A human's life revolved around being in control.

When you didn't know what time of day it was – maybe not even realising the calendars had moved onto the next month, maybe thinking you were stuck in the previous year - you had no control at all, but the world still continued around you, uncaring, unknowing.

"Tom," Sarah said gently, helping him to sit down in one the pews, settling herself beside him.

There were flowers by the altar, beautiful, shades of pink and purple. Red – red like Nikki's dressing gown, red like her blood.

He leant in and kissed Sarah. Felt the softness of her lips against his, raised a hand to touch her face, soaked up her warmth. She raised her own hand and took his fingers in his, very gently, extracting herself from the position, shuffling along to the end of the pew. She didn't need to say anything else. They sat in silence for a while.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually.

"It's okay. It's difficult for you – I understand."

He choked back new tears. What the hell was he doing? _What the hell? _She was a nurse; she'd been trying to comfort him. He didn't even like her, not in that way.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I..."

He wasn't even in control of himself any more. He just needed to know someone was there, that he wasn't entirely alone in the world. All he wanted was to hold Nikki in his arms, and if that couldn't happen, maybe he wanted to hold someone else. But he didn't. His head and his heart were telling different stories.

"Tom. It's okay."

"But I didn't..."

Sarah moved back along the pew a little towards him, "I know you didn't mean to. At least you didn't punch me – one man broke my nose when his girlfriend was in intensive care."

"Nikki isn't my girlfriend."

"No, I know she isn't. Hey, she wouldn't want you to get all upset about it, would she? You're tired, and you're confused, and you're worried about her. And I'm working – it just doesn't happen, no matter what. I shouldn't have come here with you."

"But... but," he shook his head as she stood up, suddenly didn't want to be left alone, "I'm sorry, Sarah."

"Look, Tom, as far as I'm concerned, nothing happened, okay? Emotions do funny things to people. That's all there is to it."

He stared at the flowers again. Sarah had left her coffee cup on the pew beside him when she left, and he took it now and finished the remainder of the drink. The warmth trickling down his throat didn't neutralize the chill inside his heart.

He wasn't sure why he was so worried about what Sarah thought of him. She seemed prepared to forget it, and even if she wasn't, he wouldn't have to see her for very much longer, because Nikki would be okay soon, and they'd go home together, and he'd look after her and make sure nothing like this ever, ever happened again.

Maybe that was the problem, though. He'd just kissed someone who meant little more to him than a stranger, and given her the impression that he was the sort of guy who went around kissing random people. He was sure she'd seen worse, but... but all of this time, he could've kissed Nikki, and he hadn't.

All the emotion between them; there was something deep, something he couldn't ignore no matter how hard he tried. He really, really deeply loved her – the more he attempted to turn away, the more he stayed still.

He needed her like he needed oxygen. He needed her to be there with her chatter and her laughter and her warmth, for when he'd had a bad day. He needed to be able to talk to someone intelligent about books and news and anything else he fancied. He needed to care for her, because when she smiled and thanked him for caring, his heart swooped and fluttered.

Nikki suddenly mattered to him nearly as much as Josh did. And Josh needed her too – she was a mother figure to him, someone he trusted and admired: when she'd been there, he hadn't been so vulnerable. He'd seemed whole again.

He'd thought he couldn't feel any more guilty for what had happened with Nikki, but he'd been wrong. She'd jumped from the roof of a building because he'd failed to do the right thing to help her, and now he'd snogged a nurse when all he really wanted to do was snog her.

He closed his eyes, and all he saw was Nikki's body in a coffin littered with roses, her eyes wide and empty, blood on her lips. He couldn't even trust himself any more, never mind anyone else.

XxXxX


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27:**

"Mr Clarkson?"

"Yeah," he tore his eyes away from the scarlet roses by the chapel altar and stood up, turning towards the door, "Is it Nikki? Is she okay?"

The doctor was silhouetted in the doorway, his sleeves rolled up his arms, a stethoscope slung around his neck. It was suddenly so like a scene from _Casualty _that he wanted to turn off the TV. He knew Nikki loved watching medical dramas, loved seeing the doctors save lives; maybe that was because the fictional stories cushioned reality.

"Do you want to come with me, Sir?"

"What's happened? Where is she?"

The doctor took him to an office. The papers on the desk were organised into neat piles, colour-coded with sticky labels. He thought about his own desk in the office he shared with Sian; it was strewn with work he hadn't yet got round to doing, littered with coffee cups and photographs, and little things that reminded him of past events.

He remembered Nikki seeing his desk and rolling her eyes when he'd been bandaging her hand, He wondered if her house was wonderfully neat – he'd never been inside, just dropped her off in the street. Why hadn't he gone with her? Why had he let her go in the first place?

"Mr Clarkson?"

"Yeah. Yeah," he shook himself, "Tom."

They shook hands. Tom had to restrain himself; they were fussing around with manners and formalities when Nikki was dying. No, she wasn't dying; she was going to be fine.

"I'm Doctor Williams – Liam," he said, sitting down and indicating the seat in front of him, "Would you sit down please, Tom?"

"How is she?"

"Can we discuss something," he asked slowly, "In confidence?"

"Of course."

"It's something that might be a rather difficult subject for you to talk about – it might be... it might feel as though I'm invading upon your privacy, like I'm embarrassing you. But it's important, for Nikki's sake, and what we discuss is only for my ears, okay?"

He closed his eyes. Nikki's voice echoing around the room, _you keep saying okay._ "Yes. Okay."

"Right, then. Tom, can we talk about your relationship with Nikki? When did you meet her?"

"When she first came to Waterloo Road. It must've been... maybe about half a year ago? She applied for the head of English job. We – my colleagues and I, we were interviewing the candidates – weren't too sure about her at first, but she... she proved us wrong. She became an invaluable member of the team very quickly; the children love her."

"That's good," Liam scribbled a few things down. He had neat handwriting, a bit like his desk. Weren't doctors supposed to have illegible writing? "And a bit more personally?"

"Personally?"  
>"Yes. If you don't want to answer something, feel free to say, but as I said, we're trying to establish Nikki's circumstances – what caused her to do something like this, and what was happening. As we can't find any family to talk to currently, you seemed the best place to start; you were close to her, weren't you?"<p>

Oh, so he was_ that_ sort of doctor. It was a relief to tell someone, though, really. "We got on well. We both taught English, so we had a lot in common immediately; she's funny, and friendly, and... and my son Josh has had some problems recently – she was always there to help."

"Problems?"

"Schizophrenia."

Liam nodded.

"Maybe it was a bit flirty. We didn't really mean anything by it – there was just chemistry. She was hurt in an accident at school, and..."

"What accident?"

Tom sighed. He didn't want to answer any of these questions, but that was exactly the reason he had to explain everything. He owed it to Nikki. "She was trying to help Josh, and he knocked her; she hit her head. After that, she needed someone to look out for her, and she came to stay at my house for a bit. She and Josh get on really well – she's exactly what he needed, a sort of mother figure; they made cakes together, and watched TV."

"Even though he hurt her?"

"It was accidental."

"She's a forgiving person, is she? Nikki?"

Tom nodded, forcing himself to keep calm. He knew Liam had to ask all of these questions, had to probe into the private life of the patient. It was just difficult having to consider the answers.

"So you and Nikki became closer? You were seeing a lot of each other; she needed someone to lean on for support – one might come to the conclusion that something happened between you."

"No; it didn't. It wasn't like that."

"Did either of you want anything to happen, do you think?"

"I..." he closed his eyes again. Why did you never realise what you wanted until it was too late. "I think I did. I think we both did, but it was so difficult, because of work, and Josh, and... and... Nikki was in the army, before she became a teacher, and she told me all of these stories about it."

"Okay. You're doing well, Tom."

"She really loved it. Her boyfriend was hit by a bomb on his birthday, and she had to hold him as he died, and when they searched him they found a ring in his pocket, and a letter, and..." It sounded so simple, when he put it like this. "She was just really upset about it. She said she couldn't... she said she loved me, but she couldn't betray him."

"She trusted you, though?"

"I thought so. Obviously not."

"Tom, it's not your fault. You can't blame yourself. When – and that is _when, _not if – Nikki begins to get better, she is really going to need your support. If you're too busy worrying about your guilt to look after her, it's just going to get worse."

"And things happened, when she was little. Her dad hurt her. Her mum and sister both died, and so did her sister's baby daughter. She... she just had so much wrong with her life, but she tried so hard to be happy, and all she ever wanted to do was give the children at school her passion for English. It was infectious. She was just... she tried so hard to hide everything. I should have realised it had got worse."

"These things build up over time. Maybe... maybe being with you and Josh brought back memories of when she had a family, when she was happy. Sometimes these people build up a wall around themselves, to try and forget the bad things, but they also forget the good things; Nikki opened up to you, and you looked after her, and everything came flooding back."

XxXxX


	28. Chapter 28

_Tom is still in Liam's office, just in case you're confused. I know I'm a little confused at the moment, but then when am I not? ;')_

**Chapter 28:**

"Her father's in prison now, isn't he?"

"Yes."

Liam fiddled with his stethoscope for a moment, rearranging it around his collar, "She has rather a... well, an extensive medical history."

"I should have realised. She was... she suddenly left, she said she wanted to go home, only she went to a hotel – she was really muddled up, she was pouring out her heart to me, and getting angry, then getting upset... I took her back to the hotel after we'd talked in the park, and I said we'd talk in the morning, because she wouldn't come home with me."

"Was this last night?"

"Yeah. Josh rang her to ask why she hadn't come to his birthday party, and I ended up talking to her, and she started saying how sorry she was, and how she loved me but it couldn't happen. She wasn't really making any sense. I said I'd go round and collect her, I was trying to calm her down, but she hung up on me, and... and Sian – that's my colleague – kept ringing her while I drove round to the hotel, but when I got there..."

"She'd gone?"

"Yeah."

Tom was crying now. Liam took a tissue from a box on his desk and pressed it into his hand. "You've done really well, Tom. I think that's enough for now – I might need to talk to you later, though. If you think of anything, or you have any questions, you can always come and find me. Just two more questions, if that's okay, to make things clear?"

"Okay."

"Did Nikki mention anything about suicide? Did she ever make any reference to her mental health?"

"She... she told me she had PSHD. Or something like that, she said – depression, whatever. She had this notebook; she wrote all of her feelings down in it. Apparently they'd told her to do it, and she said it helped. And she suggested Josh do the same."

"Do you know where she keeps this book?"

"She always has it with her."

"Would you be able to have a look around in her hotel room, in case she left it there? Just when you feel up to it – it might help us."

"Yeah." He just felt numb now. "I can check."

"Thank you. One final thing; can you just confirm for me, Tom, that you did not engage in any relationship with Nikki, other than as friends? You didn't have any sexual contact with her?"

Tom winced, "One night... it was a few weeks ago, she'd been so happy, I thought she was finally feeling better after the accident, and then... then she got really upset, she'd been drinking."

"Did something happen between you? Don't worry, Tom. I'm not here to judge – I just need to know what I'm dealing with."

"No. She... I think she might have wanted something... something like that. But she was drunk, and she was crying, so I just didn't want to take advantage of her, because I wasn't really sure what was happening between us. She slept in my bed – she kept having nightmares; whilst she stayed with us, she'd sometimes get up and be sick in the middle of the night – but nothing happened between us. I wanted it to be special, if it was going to happen. And it... it wasn't."

"Right. Thank you, Tom."

_Why is he asking all of these things? Why is he so determined that you've had sex, for God's sake? What are they trying to keep from you; ask yourself that, Tom? And how is she? Why won't you just get over your embarrassment and find out how she is?_

"Why do you..." he trailed off.

Liam paused, as though considering how to reply. "You understand this is a confidential conversation, don't you, Tom?"

"I wouldn't have told you everything about Nikki if I didn't, would I? I do care about her, you know?"

"I know you do."

"So what's happening? Will you tell me how she is? I've been here since she was brought in, and everyone just keeps saying there's no change, but there's got to be something to tell me. Is she unconscious, or what? How bad are her injuries? Is she..." his voice broke, "Is she going to be okay?"

"It's early yet – it's hard to say what's going to happen. I know you're sick of everyone saying they're doing their best, and I know it's difficult for you to do nothing when you feel like she needs you to be there, but there's nothing you can do, and I promise you that everyone here is working really, really hard to help Nikki."

"But..."

"She's unconscious, yes. She hasn't been awake at all since she was brought in. She lost a lot of blood, and her injuries are... are extensive. Severe head injuries – you talked about the incident with Josh, and I think she was probably already weak, so..."

"God," Tom said softly. Looked expectant; wanted to know more, despite how much it hurt. Finally, someone was giving him information.

"She's broken her leg in several places, and several ribs. One of her hands is shattered; she may never be able to use it again. But these are just early observations, Tom – we can't say anything for definite yet. You need to stay strong; for her, and for Josh. You need to try."

"I'm trying."

"So you need to start by going home, or going to a friend's, perhaps, and getting a good night's sleep. I will personally assure someone rings you if her condition changes – there's nothing you can do yet, so you might as well sort yourself out, and spend some time with your son, and then we can all focus on Nikki when she wakes up."

"The... the sex thing?"

Liam looked uncomfortable.

"Please."

"Nikki was pregnant. It's too early to tell the details yet, but when she fell – when she jumped – the baby suffered massive trauma, and it didn't survive. I... I needed to check..."

"Oh, God. Oh my God, Nikki."

Liam nodded slowly and sympathetically. He could tell from the look on Tom's face that he knew nothing more; he couldn't be any more use like this. They'd talk again tomorrow, when there was more to go on, when Tom had recovered himself slightly.

"You okay?"

Tom nodded, the tears falling too fast to stem with the mangled tissue clasped between his fingers, "Thanks. For... for telling the truth. For trying to look after her. Please... please, just don't let her die."

XxXxX


	29. Chapter 29

_*teachers arguing*  
>"...[I don't want to] fall out..."<br>"WE NEVER FELL IN."_

**God, that was funny.**

**Chapter 29:**

_A few days later._

"I'm not hungry."

Michael gave a soft sigh, "You need to eat, Tom, whether you're hungry or not."

The headteacher and his deputies were sitting in the dining hall, surrounded by chattering students, the smell of mince and dumplings omnipotent.

Sian and Michael were tucking into the meal, stuffing Brussell sprouts into their mouths and sipping their hot chocolates – a special treat for Fridays – but Tom sat staring at his untouched sandwich miserably.

"Please, Tom," Sian begged.

She didn't like seeing him like this. She knew that people fell into two categories, generally; when they were upset and stressed and angry, they either stopped eating, or stuffed their faces with anything they could find.

Whilst the latter option wasn't exactly healthy, she'd have preferred to see him eating crisps and chocolate and sweets than starving himself.

"Tom, would Nikki really want this?"

Sian winced. That seemed to have been the unspoken sentence between everyone and Tom since the incident with Nikki – all of his colleagues had tried to comfort him, all of them thinking that Nikki wouldn't have wanted Tom to suffer too, but none of them had said it, because they'd known it wouldn't help. And now Michael had broken that unspoken rule.

"How can you know what she'd want?" he asked slowly, opening the plastic wrapper around the sandwich and beginning to shred the bread crust into crumbs, "Did you ask her?"

"Tom," Sian murmured, "He didn't mean it like that."

"And how can you tell me how to feel? It's not like you were very close to her, is it?" he continued, as though his colleague hadn't spoken, "You were supposed to be her boss, and you didn't even notice she was about to kill herself? You're just as responsible as me, Michael, so don't you dare patronise me."

"We understand you're upset."

"No, you don't. You don't understand anything."

"Look, I said you could come back to work today because I thought you needed something to distract yourself from worrying about Nikki," Michael said calmly, "But you're making it clear to me that I made the wrong decision. I know you're upset, Tom, and so is everyone else – it's perfectly understandable. I'm trying to be lenient with you, but I can't allow you to act like this."

"Act like what? God, is this a bloody prison now, or something? You don't own me, Michael – you can't control me. Maybe you thought you could control Nikki, and maybe she even fell for it, because she was vulnerable, but you can't control me, and when she gets better I won't let you touch her again."

"Tom, this is not Michael's fault. You know it isn't, really. Just calm down – you're going to regret this later."

"Sian's right. I don't want to fall out with you."

"What makes you think we ever fell_ in_?"

There was a long silence. Several of the children nearby had abandoned their mince in favour of listening to the raised voices between their teachers. Their conversation would probably be all over _Twitter _in a few minutes.

None of the children were smiling today, though. Normally, teachers' rows were the gossip of the school for at least a week, but Nikki's suicide could hardly be gossiped about.

Some of the children had been found crying in the toilets this week. Others had handed chocolates to Tom, asking him if he'd give them to her, whilst others laid flowers at the school gates, and others wrote poems and read them in assembly. It had been a hard week for them all. Nikki had touched their hearts.

"I'm sorry," Tom said.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not."

That reminded him: he still had all of those poems to go through for the poetry competition. The turnout had been enormous, more than anyone could have anticipated – since Nikki's accident (everyone said _accident_, because it was easier), even the most unlikely suspects had entered.

Even Kyle Stack had written a poem, for God's sake, and Tom would admit without hesitation that it was actually quite a good poem. The whole school was subdued, marked by the darkness of what had happened just a few metres from where they sat now.

Tom bent his head.

Sian and Michael continued to eat their lunch, talking discreetly about the weather until he'd regained his composure.

"I heard it was going to... to brighten up, in the next few days," he said quietly, taking an exploratory bite of his sandwich, "Might even get to touch up my tan."

"You'd be lucky," Sian squeezed his hand affectionately.

"Dad?"

"Oh, hi," Tom stood up, laid a hand on his son's shoulder, "You doing okay, mate? How's your morning been?"

"Yeah, fine. Thanks," he stared down at his feet, looked uncomfortable, "Are you alright?"

Tom nodded.

"I thought I'd just check if you... have you, um, heard anything from the hospital? About Nikki?"

"Not since last night."

"Are we still going to see her later?"

"Josh..."

Josh raised his head, his eyes glistening with a mixture of anger and confusion, as though he'd just been betrayed by someone he'd trusted unquestioningly, "Dad, you said..."

"Look, come outside for a minute. If you'll excuse me, Michael? Sian?"

"Of course," Michael said through a mouthful of sticky toffee pudding and somewhat lumpy custard.

The corridor was quiet. That was something Tom had learnt about corridors in the past few days – they were always quiet. He'd come to rely on them; if things got overpowering in the ward, or beside her bed, or in the shop, or in Liam's office, he could always step into the corridor and calm down.

He wished it had been that easy for Nikki. Wished she could've just stepped out into the corridor rather than jumping from a roof. But then maybe if he'd dragged her out into that corridor – he was thinking metaphorically now – none of this would've happened.

"Dad, you said we could go and see her tonight. You said I could come; you promised. You've been sitting with her all week. I just want to see her."

"I know you do, Josh. I'm trying to protect you. It's because you care so much about her that I'm not sure it'd be the best idea for you to see her – maybe we should leave it a few more days. I just don't want you to be any more upset."

"But how is that fair? You're allowed to go and see her; it doesn't matter if it makes you more upset. You've barely talked to me all week, because you've been so busy with her, and..."

"Josh..."

"...and I don't even mind that because I know how much she matters to you, Dad. But why won't you let me see her as well? Why can't you just understand that I love her too?"

Tom leant back against the wall. He really didn't have an answer to those questions. Josh was right.

"Okay," he relented softly, "Okay. You can come."

XxXxX

**This may or may not be the last chapter. Seems like a bit of a shitty place to end a story I enjoyed writing so much, but I guess that's life.**


	30. Chapter 30

**I know I haven't updated in a long time, I'm sorry. I kind of lose the incentive when I feel like people aren't enjoying the story any more, but there were a few people who read and reviewed loyally through the entire fanfiction – to name a few, _LuckyStars14_ and _Stevie Radleigh_, and obviously _Never-Clip-My-Wings-x_ – and I think anyone reading this really deserves another chapter.**

**How wonderfully wacky is Waterloo Road in Scotland? Can't wait for Heather Peace to come back. All is not lost – Tom&Nikki WILL get it on.**

She was paler than he remembered her. And smaller. In sleep, even the strongest men seemed small, their fingers tucked into fists and their mouths lolling open slightly.

Nikki's hair fell like a blanket over her face, shielding her eyes from the harsh glare of the hospital lights, or perhaps hiding her from Tom.

He sank down into a chair beside her bed, because he wasn't sure how long his legs could hold him up, and he felt himself shift slightly as Josh sat down too. He could feel his son's gaze burning into the side of his face, asking so many questions to which there were no answers, or no_ simple_ answers, anyway.

"Get out of my face, Dad," Josh moaned sometimes, "I'm 18. I'm a big boy now – I can look after myself."

Maybe that was true, but at the moment Josh needed protecting whatever he said. Tom only wished someone was here to protect him. Sometimes you got sick of being the adult, the one everyone relied upon; sometimes you needed to curl up in a ball and sob into the carpet and be comforted by someone else.

Sometimes, when you'd avoided the truth for so long, you stopped remembering someone for who they were, and started remembering them for who you _thought_ they were, or who they _could_ have been.

Tom had allowed himself to forget Nikki's frailty, brushed away her sharp temper, the way she locked herself away from the world; he'd focused on the way her lips curled up softly when she was happy, on how wonderful and natural and complete it had felt when he'd held her in his arms.

So sitting here now beside her, seeing her for who she was again (although he wasn't sure he knew who she really was, even now); it felt like a bit of a shock.

He shook her arm gently, "Nikki?"

Her fingers fluttered under the blanket, then fell back down. He leant over and brushed her hair from her face, and saw the dried blood staining her cheeks, the way one of her beautiful eyes was completely swollen up. Her neck was slashed, the ugly stitches holding the skin together making her look like she was in a movie. He was frightened of what lay further down, beneath the blankets.

But then there was always something deeper, something you didn't notice; you gradually peeled away layers, like with an onion, and every time you cried a little bit more. With Nikki, the pain was almost ceaseless.

"Nikki? I'm here," he took her hand, very gently, the way he'd taken Josh's hand when his son had first woken up after _the incident _– as it was referred to – in the toilets with Nikki. That felt like a while ago now. "I'm here now."

"Tom," she whimpered.

"Yeah. And Josh is here."

She looked up at him pleadingly with one eye, as though she wanted to say so much, but couldn't manage any of it.

"I know," he said, "I'm sorry too."

"Josh," she tried to lift her other hand towards him, "How– how are you?"

"Good. I've been taking my medicine. The shrink is pleased with me."

"My boy." Her voice was croaky, the way a proud mother's might be when she wrapped her arms around her son as he returned from war. Her hero. Josh was Nikki's son now, really, wasn't he?

"It's okay, Nikki," Josh said. Tom smiled at the way his son spoke that word, remembering how it had always been 'Miss' before. "It's going to be okay."

"I know. It will be."

"Does it hurt?" Tom asked.

"A bit."

"You should've told us. You shouldn't have suffered on your own. I would always have been there for you; I would've done anything to–"

"Tom," she whispered, and he realised he had tears streaming down his face, suddenly, like someone had flicked the switch on the waterfall, "I know. That's why I couldn't; I didn't want you– I didn't want to hurt you."

"You think this doesn't hurt?"

"Dad," Josh pleaded.

"No, he's right, Josh," she said, "I know. I was a coward. And the thing is, when I've got... when I've got you two, I don't want to die. It's just a... it's something I've always been bad at: admitting I need help. I only wanted to protect you both."

"I know," Tom said. He kept hold of Nikki's hand, and brought it up very gently to his face, kissing her fingers, then wiping away his tears with them.

Her lips somehow managed to form the ghost of a smile, "It's taken me a while to– to get through to your... to your soft side, Mr Clarkson."

His tears tasted salty, "Oh, shush."

"Can you two be romantic later, please?"  
>"Sorry, son," Tom said, "Look, I'm going to go and clean myself up a bit. Just promise me you won't do anything like that ever again, Nikki. I can't cope with thinking you feel like that."<p>

"I'm sorry."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay," he kissed her forehead, pushed back his chair and left the room.

For a while, Josh didn't say anything else. He wasn't sure what there was to say, really. He reached out for the glass of water on the bedside table and helped Nikki drink through the straw, supporting her head.

"Do you miss your mum, Josh?"

He blinked. "Sometimes."

"You know, I wouldn't ever try to replace her. If you don't like me being with your dad, like... well, in a _romantic_ way, then..."

"No. I mean, I do like it. I like you being with us. I like it when we have pizza, and when we can chat about how the day's gone. I like you helping me with my homework, and how you're always there if I need to tell someone something."

She lay back again, "I'm glad."

"And I like how you make my dad happy."

"He makes me happy too."

"That's okay, then," Josh said, "I don't miss my mum because she was a good person. I miss her because she was my mum – you know, even if someone is horrible, you can still love them."

"I understand that."

He nodded. He thought she did, and that was another thing he liked about Nikki. She really did understand things. "But I love you too. Like, you're sort of my mum now. I'd miss you, if you weren't here."

Nikki smiled and closed her other eye, and they didn't say anything else. Josh bent his head and she moved her fingers so that she was stroking his hair, very gently, and when Tom came back they were both sleeping, and Nikki didn't look quite so small any more.

XxXxX

**Reviews would mean a lot to me!x**


	31. Chapter 31

**Thank you so much for your reviews, they really brighten up my day and you're so lovely! Particular thanks to _LittleWhinge_, whose review made me cry, which is not something I really make a habit of ;)**

**I realised I didn't do a quote in the last chapter – that was sort of where this story started from in the first place, so I'm sorry. Here's one to make up for it:**

_**All good poetry is forged **__**slowly**__** and patiently, link by link, with sweat and blood and tears ~ Alfred Douglas**_

***plays The Bill theme tune (just for xDivashell24x)***

**ON WITH THE STORY.**

"You shouldn't be out of bed," he said, when he saw her.

"Oh, how nice," she hovered in the doorway, a smile playing on her lips. It was a long time since he'd seen her smile; he'd almost forgotten how uniquely elated it made him feel. "No 'hello Nikki, you look well' or perhaps 'come and take a seat and I'll get you a coffee', then?"

He stood up, "Of course, I'll–"

"I'm joking, Tom."

"Ah. Yeah."

"You can sit down." The lilt of her accent bridged the gap between 'sit' and 'down', making it sound like 'siddown'. He suddenly wanted to cry.

He sank back into his chair obligingly, and she sat down beside him. She walked with a slight limp, he noticed; she was obviously in a lot of pain. Her eyes glowed, though, like she'd been cured of blindness and could suddenly see the beauty of the world despite the suffering she'd been through.

It was like she'd been asleep, almost, under a curse all the time he'd known her. Like Sleeping Beauty or Snow White – for she was as beautiful as both, in Tom's eyes – laid in a glass coffin with roses in their hair, waiting for their prince to come along and kiss them. Was he Nikki's prince?

"Tom."

"Yeah, I'm here," he reached out and took her hand.

He could feel the bones in her fingers quiver; he wondered if it was too much too soon, if he was going to frighten her away before he'd even got close, but she squeezed his hand back, as though she was trying to tell him it was okay.

"Have you been here all night again?"

"Nope, I just came in about half an hour ago – I didn't know if you'd be up yet, so I came down here to watch the news. I knew you had the psych assessment this morning, so I thought I would come in and see how you were, you know?"  
>She looked up at the TV he pointed to. The presenter was babbling on about some gardening awards ceremony the Queen was attending; obviously a quiet day on the news front, then, unlike the day...<p>

He took the opportunity to let his eyes skim over her body. Aside from her bare feet, and the scars on the patches of skin visible, she looked okay; you wouldn't have known she'd...

_Oh, for God's sake, Tom. Man up, stop being a bloody wimp: if she can admit it, you can admit it. She tried to kill herself. She didn't want to live any more._

_ And you didn't stop her from jumping._

She pulled her fingers from his.

"Sorry," he said, realising he'd been squeezing her hand a little too tightly.

He kept seeing the doctors' faces flashing before his eyes as he'd begged to be allowed to see her, kept hearing them promise they'd do everything they could. Instead of it being her bending over the toilet shaking in the middle of the night, it was him, and nobody was there to look after _him_, were they?

"Tom, you look shattered."

"I'm alright, really."

"Who's going to look after me when I'm allowed out of this place, if you're making yourself ill? I'm okay, Tom," she met, and held, his gaze, her eyes soft, "I promise you, I'm okay. Please don't worry about me."

He didn't say anything.

"Tom?"

"You do look better today, Nikki." His voice wasn't much more than a whisper. "I know things were difficult for you, with– with everything, but– sorry, I'm just blabbering. What I mean is: I don't ever want you to feel like you're alone. You've done so much for Josh, for me, and..."

She took his hand again. He lifted it up to his face, and she wiped his tears away with the side of her thumb. He wondered why it was her who was so calm now. He supposed everyone got to the point where they hit rock bottom, and once you did you could begin to climb back up towards the stars.

"You know it's not going to be easy, don't you? I'm not an easy person to live with – I push people away. Hey, you already know that. And some days I really don't want to do anything else except lie in bed and cry. But– but with you and Josh, I felt like I belonged there. Just eating pizza, just being part of a family."

"I would've missed you, if you... if you'd not made it."

"I would've missed you more," she said, and then she smiled at the absurdity of that sentence. "You know in Jane Eyre, how it takes them so many chapters to get married? There are always those barriers, there's always something stopping them, but they do get there, in the end."

"They do."

"And we will, too."

He leant across and kissed her. Her skin, where his fingers graced her cheek, was soft like a baby's. He closed his eyes and felt her body against his, and thought about all of the people he'd dated since Josh's mother. It had never felt like this.

She broke away. "What time is it?"

"Nearly half nine."

"My appointment is at ten," she said, matter-of-factly, as though they conversation hadn't been halted by their sealing of love, "I need to go and get ready now. It probably won't be a great start if I'm late."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"You can't. This one I have to do by myself." She stood up and reached for his hand, as though she was inviting him to dance with her; he took it, wrapped his arm around her waist. She leant into him. "You could wait in the waiting room, though?"

"Good plan. I can catch up on the latest gossip in _Heat_."

"I'm not sure they have magazines. I know there are a couple of very thick books about psychology on the table, though."

"That'll be nice for me."

"Yeah, well; there are certain things you'll need to know, if I'm going to live with you, isn't there, Mr Clarkson?"

He looked sideways at her, "Like what?"

"You need to know how to calm me down after a long day. You need to know what the signs are for stress and PTSD and," she paused, and her voice softened, "And suicide, I suppose."

He leant back against the wall in the corridor, and she leant beside him. He thought about the other things he'd need to know: her favourite food, and her favourite season, and later, maybe – hopefully – which side of the bed she preferred. He'd need to know how to stop her from wanting to kill herself.

Although he knew, deep down, that she was right. There were some things she had to do on her own. When you were a teacher, you learnt that some kids were beyond help – however much you liked to believe you could save them all, it wasn't true.

It was like writing (and they should both know about that, being English teachers, he supposed); sometimes, it was easy just to give up when things didn't turn out right. But it was beautiful and natural and addictive, and you could slowly work through your writers' block, overcome the hurdles, and eventually everything would be okay.

"And you need to know what my favourite cheese is."

He spluttered, "Your favourite cheese?"  
>"It's important, you know."<p>

XxXxX

**When does Nikki come back? I bet her and Tom won't even have any scenes together after all this... does everyone remember the look that passed between them when Kyle hit her? *cries* I'm excited for tonight's episode now:3**

**Please review!xxx**


	32. Chapter 32

**It hasn't been _that_ long since I updated, has it? *sheepish face* Some people just have no commitment.**

**I thought Heather Peace was going to be back at the end of October, then someone told me the next episode isn't on until February, so I'm not particularly happy.**

**But hey, we have the Young Apprentice instead, and I've been getting a couple of ideas from that for another fanfiction, so it's not all bad ;)**

_A few months later_

_Christmas_

Tom hadn't been too keen on going out for the annual Christmas party with his colleagues, at first.

It was an event he'd generally avoided, as a rule. He didn't like the headache that came with the morning after, or the way he felt old when he was surrounded by the younger generation of teachers, who danced until they could dance no more.

And Grantly. Grantly had always been one for dancing, and now he'd married Maggie there was no stopping him; he wouldn't take no for an answer where the Macarena was concerned.

"Can't we just stay in?" Tom had asked Nikki, "Have a quiet night with a takeaway and celebrate the end of term?"

"Don't be such a meanie."

"I'm not being mean."

"Are so," she'd moaned, kicking her slippers off and curling her feet up behind her on the sofa in order to lean in closer.

Tom had wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and Josh had thrown a cushion across the lounge and told them to 'get a bloody room', which was nice of him.

"You go, if you want to – I'm not going to stop you. I'm sure you'll have a lovely time buying booze and watching Christine drink it all, while Chalky steals crisps and Grantly breaks his back trying to do the splits."

She'd rolled her eyes at him.

"I'm serious. I've experienced enough Christmases with Waterloo Road to know they always turn out disastrously."

"Scrooge," she'd said, "We've had far too many takeaways in the past few weeks. It won't just be Chalky stealing the crisps, will it, if we don't start eating a bit more healthily? And anyway, it's only one night."

"I'm not going, Nikki. You can call me fat, but I'm not going."

Two weeks later, and Tom was fastening his bow tie in front of the mirror in their bedroom, wondering how the hell she'd managed to convince him to do this.

XxXxX

"You look beautiful," Sian gave Nikki a quick hug as she stepped into the hall.

Michael had hired out the community centre; Tom would grudgingly admit he'd done quite a good job with the decorations. Trestle tables lined two sides, piled high with sausage rolls and chocolate cake. Tinsel was strewn everywhere, over the lights – which was surely a fire hazard – and the clock and the doors.

There was a Christmas tree in the far corner, the fairy lights twinkling like Nikki's eyes as he slipped his arm through hers.

"It's not all bad, is it?"

He sighed. "Just you wait and see."

"Scrooge, Scrooge, Scrooge."

She led him across to the makeshift bar that Maggie was looking after, and refused to let him pay for the drinks. Tom had a beer; Nikki had an orange juice. Both Maggie and Tom went a bit white when she asked for that.

He looked at her. "You– are you–?"

"God, no. Think you'd know about it if I was. I'm a moody cow at the best of times."

Maggie smiled, "Would've been a nice revelation."

Tom led her away by the wrist, "Nikki?"

"What's so wrong with having a soft drink? Someone needs to be the adult around here. No wonder this party is always such a disaster if all anyone does is get pissed."

"No, I just thought..."

"It's okay," she kissed him on the cheek, teasingly, but her voice was soft and thoughtful, "I don't want that yet, Tom. You've got Josh. I'm happy the way it is, I'm happy with taking things slowly."

"So am I."

They sat down at a table with Lorraine, Audrey and Christine who, true to form, was gulping down a beer, a couple of empty bottles already beside her.

Lorraine didn't seem to be paying much attention to anything; she was texting furiously, her fringe flopping over her face. Christine was a bit preoccupied with her drink to be much fun conversation-wise, but they talked with Audrey about the merits of trying contact lenses for a while.

"Do I get a Christmas hug?"

Nikki grinned and stood up to let Michael hold her for a moment. He gave Audrey's shoulder a squeeze too, seen as she looked about as enthused as Josh would've done if someone had offered to take away his phone for a week.

"Happy Christmas, mate," Tom said to Michael as they gave each other a rather awkward one-armed squeeze.

Sometimes Tom missed Rachel and the other head teachers who'd come before; sometimes he missed Rochdale. He and Michael had gradually struck up a sort of understanding, though, and Tom admired Michael for doing what he thought was right for the kids, even when it wasn't the easiest route.

"Been an eventful year, all in all, hasn't it?" Michael said.

"Yeah. I want to say thank you, Michael, for everything you've done for me this year. Thank you for being so understanding, and it was so kind of you to let Tom have those days off too, when I was in hospital."

"You don't need to thank me, Nikki."

"Let her get it off her chest," Tom muttered, "It's Christmas, after all."

"I do need to. I don't feel like I've really thanked you at all. You've been wonderful."

Michael smiled at her, and he looked a lot younger to Tom, as though the stress of trying to do the right thing all the time, the weight on his shoulders, wore off a little bit when someone genuinely appreciated his work, "You're very welcome. I'm just glad you're better now."

She sat back down as Michael turned to see if he could get a word out of Lorraine. Tom wanted to suggest that Michael tried confiscating her phone, but he thought that might earn him a detention when they went back to school, so he stayed quiet.

"Christine," Audrey was saying, in her best motherly voice, "You know, there are people who can help you. I know it's difficult to admit you have problems, but–"

Tom stopped listening.

Sian had been right: Nikki really did look beautiful. She was wearing a modest knee-length turquoise gown (to hide the scars on her thighs, but nobody needed to know that, did they?), her hair pinned back from her face so that her eyes looked larger than normal, warm and glittery.

"Was that too soppy?"

"No, of course not," he reached out and took her fingers in his, "He did help us, and he deserves to know about it. You've probably made his evening now."

She smiled. He'd seen her smile enough times to know that this one was forced.

"What's up? Come on: spill.""

"I've never felt like this before, I've never really felt safe like I do with you and Josh. It sounds really stupid, but it's true."

He held out his arms and took her onto his knee. Her dress was silky against his arms, but her lips was silkier as he kissed her again.

"I love you, Tom."

"I love you too."

He'd never meant anything more.

XxXxX


	33. Chapter 33

**Excuse me if the details about EpiPens are wrong, I have no idea;) but I do remember one of my teachers running round the classroom in hysterics last year because she there was a wasp – "if it stings me, I'll die, go and get someone, don't just sit there laughing", aw bless her.**

Chapter Thirty Three

"I love this song."

Tom wrinkled his nose and took another sip of his beer.

Across the other side of the hall, Christine was arguing with Maggie about the price of smoky bacon crisps, their voices rising in pitch and volume, until the argument seemed to be almost who could shout the loudest rather than why the crisps were 'so bloody expensive'.

Tom had to admit, he agreed with her, and that didn't happen very often. Sixty five pence? Teachers' salaries weren't exactly great, were they? The money was going towards paying for the children who couldn't afford the school trip to see _Oliver! _in February, though, which made him feel slightly guilty for fussing over a few pennies.

Sometimes you got so caught up in your own miseries you forgot how lucky you were in comparison to others, but Nikki was giving Tom perspective now. Seeing how difficult things were for her sometimes, and how she fought on, made him stronger.

"You know how you love me?"

"Mm," he said.

"Lots and lots?"

"I wouldn't go that far."

She gave him a playful shove, before slipping down from his knee and taking his hand, "Right, I was going to be nice and ask you if you'd be kind enough to dance with me, but for that you're not getting a say in it. Come on."

He'd always been an awful dancer. He remembered a PE lesson in his teens when one of the teachers had decided it would be funny to put a gaggle of spotty lads into the gym with some embarrassingly self-conscious girls and lock the door. He'd fallen over before they'd reached the first chorus of the song.

Trust Nikki to be elegant, and shame him all the more. It wasn't that she was a particularly good dancer, just that she suddenly didn't seem to care what anyone else thought; she twirled around under his clumsy arms and the hem of her dress danced too. He'd seen her like this when they were together alone, but never before in front of others, so carefree.

"Can we stop now?"

"Oh, Mr Clarkson," she smirked, "Are you out of breath, darling?"

He didn't want to begrudge her a bit of fun when she looked so happy; he spun her around a bit more, and they even managed to co-ordinate a bit of a routine.

Lorraine seemed to have unglued herself from her phone, and she and Sian joined in, and then Michael and Audrey, and then now undoubtedly drunk Christine too.

Tom, panting, left Nikki dancing with the girls, a strand of her hair falling down over her fair and bouncing slightly as she moved, so that she looked innocent, even more beautiful.

He went across to see Chalky, who was Skype-ing (if that was a verb) Janeece, and showing her the party. Nearby, Grantly was trying to coax Maggie into giving him a packet of crisps.

"I'll pay you in _other_ ways," he said, undoing a couple of buttons on his shirt and revealing too much flesh for Tom's liking.

"Look, it's Tom-Tom," Janeece was squealing to the little girl on her knee, who appeared to be wearing quite a lot of make-up. Some things would never change, would they?

His heart stopped when he heard Nikki scream his name, in a sort of a strangled tone, like she was petrified.

Really stopped.

He found himself recalling that your heart shut down for a split second every time you sneezed, and then he wondered why the hell he gave a damn about that right now.

He ran back to the centre of the hall. The teachers were crowded around in a circle, the way children did when there was a fight in the playground, as though it made them feel better to see that somebody else's day was worse than theirs.

He pushed through them and crouched down at her side. She lay still, her cheeks whiter than ivory, her lips a funny sort of purple, like she'd smeared soap on them. He laid a hand on her shoulder gently, trying to soothe her, and she writhed, searching for oxygen, unable to breath.

It sounded awful – he supposed it was the adrenaline – but he felt suddenly ecstatic, relief searing through his veins.

"It's okay," Nikki was mumbling soothingly to Lorraine, "It's okay, you're going to be fine."

Behind them, Michael was already phoning for an ambulance, his voice shaking as he gave the address.

"I– I can't–"

"I know, just take deep breaths, don't try to talk."

Tom was suddenly hit by the realisation that he should do something. He pulled Lorraine's handbag towards him and rummaged through it, feeling as though he was exposing her secrets as he pushed a hairbrush and a _KitKat_ out of the way.

"You know," Nikki was still speaking softly, despite the way her hands shook as she held Lorraine's, "Tom did warn me that Waterloo Road parties were always eventful."

He found what he was looking for and stabbed the_ EpiPen_ right into her arm, knowing he'd never do it if he paused to think.

Chalky seemed to have found the light switch, for the whole room was suddenly bathed in an artificial yellow glow, and the disco balls now looked feeble as they spat out intermittent sparkles.

Nikki somehow managed to force a smile onto her face as she stroked back Lorraine's fringe, "There you go, see, it's going to be fine. Just take nice deep breaths."

"The ambulance is coming," Michael announced.

What Nikki did next, Tom knew instantly he would be proud of her for until the end of his life, when he no longer had the capability to feel anything at all. He couldn't imagine that; not loving her.

She dug her nails into the bottom of her dress and ripped away a strip of the material. Grantly seemed to understand what she was doing, because he brought across a bottle of water, and together they gently wiped Lorraine's face, Nikki whispering to her all the while.

Lorraine seemed to be breathing a little bit easier. She watched Nikki, as though focusing on one face helped her. Her voice was hoarse and shaky and frightened, but it was there. "Thank you."

"It's okay. You're okay now."

And the scars on Nikki's legs were now clearly visible for her colleagues to gawp at, and Tom pulled her close and felt her shaking, and he clung to her. She sagged a little bit into his shoulder, her heart thudding loud enough for him to hear it.

Christine appeared from somewhere or other with another bottle of beer, and pushed through the ring of teachers. "Bloody crisps."

"Crisps," Lorraine muttered, her voice seeming to laugh a little bit, now it was all over.

Nikki wasn't laughing. Tom let her cry into his shirt, and hoped she knew without him saying it again how much he loved her.

XxXxX

**Anyway, it looks like this will be your Christmas update, so MERRY CHRISTMAS to every single one of you, thank you for being such loyal readers and lovely reviewers. And never mind Christmas, it's not long now until WR is back!xxx**


	34. Chapter 34

**Did everyone have a good Christmas?**

**Well, this even manages to be quite a long chapter. Maybe it will go some way to make up for the lack of Tom&Nicki in the actual programme; there were some seriously unhappy people on Twitter on Thursday, myself included. *cries* Hope you enjoy it!x**

Chapter Thirty Four | Bleeding Love

"Quiet," Lorraine called.

Her voice filled the assembly hall, and the children settled down in their chairs. She had the sort of presence, standing up on the stage in front of them in her deep purple dress, which brought her automatic respect.

"Tariq, I can't think of a way to express 'quiet' in simpler terms," she said, her eyes locking onto his as he leant across to whisper something to Josh, "Is there a different language you'd like me to translate it into? Does _ssshhh _do it?"

"Sorry, Miss."

"Well, I'm sure you all made New Year's resolutions, and you've possibly already broken them," she continued, glancing sideways at Michael, who stood on the stage beside her, and exchanging a smile with him, "Mr Byrne's was to cycle to school once a week, so you'll all need to keep an eye on him for that one."

"Thank you, Miss Donnegan."

"I never make a New Year's resolution, because I can't keep them, and I end up feeling worse than I did before. But that doesn't mean that we can't all try to do something new this year, something little to help someone else. If someone in your class looks a bit sad, why don't you go over to them and ask if they're alright? They might not want to talk to you, but then again they might. It's not going to hurt you to ask."

Lorraine's eyes skimmed the room, settling on nobody. Michael took a little step towards her, as though he somehow thought he might need to be there for her to lean on.

"I know you've heard all this a million times before from Mr Byrne or Mr Clarkson or whoever, and to be honest I'm not normally someone who enjoys lecturing you. I don't think it helps anyone. But something happened just before Christmas to make me re-evaluate my life, and I just don't think I'd be doing my job properly if I didn't encourage you to do the same."

Nikki sat at the back of the hall with Tom. They no longer kept up a pretence in front of the students; they didn't deny that they were 'going out'. They sat close enough for her to reach out and take his hand, or for him to wrap his arm around her and pull him close, but neither of them did either of those things.

Nikki was wearing straight black trousers. Her hands rested on her lap, and to anyone watching them she would've looked perfectly relaxed, happy to be sitting beside her boyfriend, but Tom could see she was digging her nails into the flesh on her hands.

There were scars beneath those trousers.

Those scars didn't bother Tom. Well, they did, because he knew how much she'd suffered, how much she still did suffer, but they didn't bother him in the sense that they made him love her any less. He didn't think anything could make him love her any less.

It was unspoken between them how ashamed Nikki was of her body. Sometimes, when they were in bed together, he'd run his hands down her scars, and she'd squirm away automatically, then fall back into his arms when she remembered who it was that was holding her, that she could trust him.

"Why?" he'd asked softly, not really wanting to know the answer, as he'd found new scars on the lower part of her back, deeper scars than the rest, scars that would be on her body like a tattoo forever.

"When people know you're self harming, the doctors, your parents," she'd said, making him strain to hear her, "They think it would be your wrists. They check your stomach too, and your legs. But not your back."

Her colleagues had seen her legs, when she'd ripped her dress to make a cloth for Lorraine's head. When Tom thought about that, even after a couple of weeks had passed, it made him feel sick, and it made him feel that he was in love with the most selfless woman in the world.

Nikki had wanted to go home, but Lorraine had clung on to her hand even after the paramedics had arrived, and so Tom and Nikki had spent the night in the hospital, and when he'd finally driven her home they'd had some hot chocolate – Nikki had wanted coffee, but his head had been spinning enough without caffeine – and gone to bed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he'd asked her, lying in the dark with his arm so tight around her that he was scared she was hurting.

"No," she'd said, "No thank you."

When they'd woken up in the morning, it had been clear that neither of them would speak of it, and they hadn't.

"At the teachers' Christmas party," Lorraine said now, "I had an allergic reaction. Now, don't get any ideas about putting nuts in my dinner, please: I'm looking at you, Tariq."

"Yes, Miss."

"I think you get to a point where you're just sick of everything that's restricting you. You spend so long trying to avoid these things. I don't know, you might be avoiding your grandma because she doesn't want you to do acting, even though it's your dream; or you might be avoiding nuts. And then you have a bit to drink and get a bit ahead of yourself, and–"

Tom saw Nikki's head go down another little bit.

"It was stupid, I'm not denying that. God, that wouldn't be the way anyone would choose to go, dying because they, just that once, forgot to check the back of the crisps packet," she said, "But you know, it's not entirely bad, because it showed me something. It showed me people really can be all the things we try and get you to be: brave and loving and selfless."

"Shit."

Tom shook his head. "You deserve it."

He couldn't help but think how different Lorraine was acting to usual, how she normally liked to shout a couple of things and walk off. She didn't go in for soppy stuff. He supposed that proved just how big a thing Nikki had done, how much she should be praised for it.

"I don't want it," Nikki mumbled, her voice drowning out Lorraine's blabbering in Tom's ear.

"I know you don't, but she's not going to let that stop her, is she? Look, it's Lorraine, this is how she does things: she just wants you to know how grateful she is, then everyone will forget about it."

"Tom, they saw my legs."

Lorraine seemed to have launched into a speech about how wonderful Nikki had been, because the entire hall rippled as the children turned round to look at Nikki, their eyes searching hers, their surprise and interest and pride in their teacher colliding with her fear and embarrassment.

_They saw my legs._ He'd known she was upset about it, he'd known how hard it was for her. Her colleagues knew she'd tried to kill herself, and they did judge her, of course they did, everyone judged each other.

They thought she was incredibly brave, a wonderfully warm and friendly woman, someone who cast love onto children's lives despite not having had that much love herself. He could see that in their eyes when they looked at her, and in her students' eyes too, and he could feel it in his heart, the way everything bubbled inside of him when he held her hand.

"Will you come up here, Nikki?"

"Shit," Nikki said again.

"Go on," he said, "It'll be fine."

She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes briefly, like she was wiping them, hiding behind them.

"Nikki? No use hiding."

Tom tried to signal to Lorraine that she didn't want to, but the woman was now holding up a large bouquet of beautiful purple flowers, which coordinated with her flowing dress. Even from the back, he could see how her eyes were bright and her lips were curved upwards. She looked directly at Nikki, and didn't seem to see her reluctance.

Tom wanted to take Nikki's hand and lead her out and kiss her in the corridor, because nobody else mattered. He also wanted to pick her up and carry her onto the stage and hold her high.

Was she crying? He couldn't tell.

"Nikki," Michael said, "Come on."

She got up and walked to the front of the hall, and she took the flowers from Lorraine. Tom saw her lips mouth 'thank you'; she let Michael kiss her cheek, and stood between them whilst the children cheered.

She looked directly to the back of the hall, her eyes blank behind her smile, and Tom could see that he'd been wrong, that things were better, that Nikki was okay. If he stopped pretending and looked behind her eyes, he wasn't sure she'd ever really be okay.

XxXxX


	35. Chapter 35

**Four options:**

**1) Continue writing **_**Bleeding Love**_**  
>2) Begin a sequel to <strong>_**Bleeding Love**_**  
>3) Begin an unrelated new multi-chaptered Tom&amp;Nicki story<br>4) Focus on writing one-shots**

**I'd really love to know which you'd prefer me to do! x**

Chapter Thirty Five

"Josh," Tom said, sitting down next to his son on the sofa and leaning across for the remote, "Can I have a word, mate?"

Josh continued to stare at the television even when it had been muted, and the Simpsons' mouths moved silently. Wasn't he a bit old for that kind of thing? Why not an intellectual documentary on the Spanish recession?

"Dad, if you're going to give me _the talk_, you're a bit late."

"Oh. Oh, do you mean– have you–"

"No," Josh exclaimed, his eyes leaving the TV for the first time to give his father a disgusted glare, "I meant we had it at school. With bananas and stuff."

"Oh, that's okay, then."

"It was really funny, actually, because Scout asked Grantly if there'd be a demonstration, and Grantly thought she was actually serious, so he–"

"If this is going where I think it's going, I don't want to know."

Josh gave a half-smile, then turned back to watching The Simpsons. Tom pressed the standby button instead. They sat for a moment in silence, listening to the kitchen tap dripping, both irritated by it, yet not irritated enough to get up and turn it off. Tom wondered if it was his fault Josh was the kind of person who waited for someone else to act, rather than acting himself. Those things were probably hereditary.

"What, Dad?"

"It's about Nicki, actually."

"Ah," Josh said, as if that explained everything, "Right."

"I know you two might have had your ups and downs, in the past, but from what I've seen you're really quite close to each other, and I just wanted to talk to you first, because it didn't feel right to–"

"You're blabbering."

"Sorry."

Josh smiled. The first proper smile Tom had got from his son in a while, the sort of smile that had been so rare since he'd been diagnosed with schizophrenia. It hadn't been easy for him, but then it hadn't been easy for any of them. You didn't realise how much things had changed until you allowed yourself to look back.

"Dad, if you want to marry Nicki, you can."

_Was he really so obvious? _"You don't mind, son?"

"No, I don't mind. She's much better than all of those other creeps you've brought home."

"All of them?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, but not in a defiant way, not like he was angry with his father. He was no longer staring blankly at the TV. "I like Nicki, Dad. She makes you happy, and she always seems so happy when she's with you, too."

"Would you be happy, if she lived here with us?"

"I won't be here for much longer."

_Don't remind me. Find one person you love and lose another. _"Well, if she lived with me, and you had to put up with her when you came home for Christmas, then?"

"Yeah. I'll try not to hit her again."

"I'm sure she'll be relieved."

"Can I be the person who gives you the rings to put on each other's fingers?" he asked, standing up and going across to the wall by the door to retrieve his phone from the plug where it was charging, "I'll have to text Finn and see if he'll come shopping with me for wedding presents. We'll have to get matching suits and everything."

"I'm only proposing. It might be a while until we actually get married. She might say no, for God's sake."

Josh rolled his eyes, "Yeah, of course she might. She'll get some glasses from Specsavers and realise she actually doesn't want to marry such an ugly man."

Funny boy, Josh, wasn't he? Obviously that was hereditary, too. Tom took his phone from his pocket. If anyone old walked in now, they'd start moaning about how everyone nowadays was glued to their technological devices. He didn't think he'd care at the moment, though.

"Do you fancy going out with your friends tonight?"

"You going to invite her round?"

"Yeah," Tom said, "I'll make her dinner. If you don't mind."

"_Dinner_," Josh repeated, grinning, "No, it's cool."

He realised his fingers were shaking as he typed the message. _Are you free for dinner tonight? 7 at my house? x_

What if she did say no? His cheeks burned at the idea of her saying 'I'm sorry, but I don't think so', or 'it's too early, Tom'. Was it too early? Should he be pushing her? He wanted her to know just how much she meant to him, the second most important person in his world, after Josh.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and if sitting by her hospital bed sobbing after she'd tried to kill herself didn't put him off, then quite frankly what would? The more he saw her pain and her weaknesses, the more he wanted to heal them, to help her gain confidence again. Loving Nicki hurt, but it also felt warm in his chest like nothing else ever had excepting holding his son close.

"Just don't put the ring inside the teapot, or anything stupid like that."

"Why would I put the ring inside the teapot?"

"I don't know," Josh said, "I saw it on a film or something. She ended up swallowing the ring, and he tried to do that thing where you squeeze them to stop them from choking, but he broke her ribs. Then she went off and married the postman."

_Thank you for that, son. Your input is always greatly appreciated when I'm already nervous._ "I won't put the ring in the teapot, okay?"

"Oh, and don't make her that chicken thing with cheese inside, either. That was absolutely minging last time. You'll scare her off for life, if you don't poison her."

"I thought it was quite nice."

"It wasn't. Just do something easy, do spaghetti bolognaise with garlic bread or something, then give her ice cream after. Not the Ben and Jerry's, though. I'm saving that for next time I'm ill."

"Okay, thank you, Josh, I think you should leave before I spread the Ben and Jerry's all over your head," Tom said.

Josh grinned and left the room, texting madly. If Finn was involved, everyone at Waterloo Road would know Tom and Nicki were getting married before he'd even asked her. Maybe that would be easier than asking her; just broadcast it round the school? Maybe she wouldn't be too impressed.

One new message. Nicki.

_Sure. Should I bring wine? x_

_ Just yourself x_

_ Mm. Intriguing. See you soon x_

If things went according to plan, he had a bottle of champagne in the fridge to go with their vol-au-vents. If they didn't, there was always and a microwavable spaghetti bolognaise. And some whisky to drown his sorrows.

If she agreed to marry him, he'd throw whisky bottle out of the window. He didn't think he'd ever need to drown his sorrows again with her at his side.

XxXxX


	36. Chapter 36

**Bleeding Love | Chapter Thirty Six**

**Thank you to everyone who is reading this, you're all so lovely in your feedback. I genuinely grin like an idiot whenever I get a review. If anyone has any time and hasn't already read it, I know some of you said you might be interested in a new Tom/Nicki fic so I've begun a new story called **_**All's Loud on the Western Front**_** and I'd really appreciate it if you'd tell me what you think x**

_Love is not love  
>Which alters when it alteration finds,<br>Or bends with the remover to remove:  
>O no! it is an ever-fixed mark<br>That looks on tempests and is never shaken_

_~ the wonderful William Shakespeare_

Imagining all of the things that could go wrong tonight made him feel sick. He couldn't count the scenarios in his head; they were so plentiful, swarming like the most persistent bees around a crowd of children with ice creams. What if Nicki didn't like the food? What if he, as Josh had suggested, really did give her food poisoning, and she ended up in A&E on what should have been an evening of ecstasy? And what if she disliked the ring?

What if she said no?

"It'll be fine, Dad," Josh had said on his way out of the door, still grinning, "Text me when she says yes. Or no. But she won't say no."

He hadn't known what to wear. He'd put on a woolly jumper (so that she wouldn't notice he was trembling) but taken it off again straight away because he looked ridiculous. In the end, he'd settled for a crisp white shirt over jeans, and then he'd washed his hair over the sink and borrowed Josh's hairdryer. He still looked a bit scruffy, but she wouldn't be with him if she disliked scruffiness, would she?

His phone vibrated at ten to seven. _Sorry, I walked fast, I'm outside now. Are you ready? x_

What, did she think he'd have her hover in the porch for ten minutes? His heart was literally in his throat. There was another thing that could go wrong: he might have a heart attack, and she'd end up pounding his chest rather than curling with her head on it. _Don't go there, Tom._

He opened the front door before he could change his mind. "Hello."

"Hi," she said, stepping up into the hallway and kissing him lightly on the cheek. She smelled gorgeous. She looked gorgeous, a little black skirt and tights, with a purple scarf nestled around her neck.

"You alright?" she asked.

"Yeah, sorry," he mumbled. He took her hand and led her through into the living room, where he poured them each a glass of wine.

She sat down by his side on the sofa and sipped her wine. Her lips moved delicately around the rim of the glass. "Are you sure you're okay? You seem a bit– I don't know, different. Do you feel ill or something?"

"No. No, Nicki, I–" he put his wine down hastily, scared he was going to splash it down his shirt.

"Tom?"

The concern in Nicki's voice made him overflow with happiness, just the fact that she cared, the way she seemed to love him just as much as he loved her. Why was he scared of doing this when it was the most natural thing in the world?

"I had all these ideas about how I wanted to do this, all romantic, you know. But I don't need to do that, because–" he shoved his hand behind the cushion and pulled out a wrapper from a Mars Bar; he screwed it up and found the ring box instead. He slid down from the sofa and knelt in front of her. "I love you, Nicki. Please, marry me."

She dumped her glass on the table, slid down beside him and hugged him viciously. There were tears in her eyes when she pulled away. "Really?"

_I'm not doing this for the hell of it._ "I love you. I have never loved anyone more in my life, except for Josh, of course. Whatever happens, I want to be there with you, I don't want us ever to be apart again."

He hadn't thought it was possible for her to hug him tighter, but she did. They kissed until he had no oxygen left in his lungs. Every other part of their relationship so far had been complicated, and now this was easy, as easy as breathing.

"Well? Will you?"

"Of course I will, you stupid bugger."

"I'll go and find the champagne, then," he said. He tried to stand up and found himself stumbling forwards again. She'd obviously jumped onto his knees a bit enthusiastically for his body's liking. "Are you sure, Nicki? I mean, I'm a bit of an old codger now, I–"

She helped him to his feet, "Then you're _my _old codger. Look, Tom, if you hadn't been there, I– well, I don't know what I would have done. You have been my rock, and I mean that, you and Josh; you've kept me alive."

He found he didn't want to let go of her hand, so he led her through to the kitchen and she helped him pour the champagne. The bubbles danced in his nose and mouth, and the delight danced in his heart.

"I love you," she said.

"Mm," he said, his head buried in her neck, her hair falling over him, "I love you too. I should text Josh, really, I said I would; he'll be pleased to know I haven't botched it up. He was a bit worried about me losing the ring in a teapot and you choking on it or something."

"A teapot?"

"Ah, welcome to my world, Miss Boston."

They'd always been relatively restrained with one another, before now. They'd always had so much between them, the knowledge of how much Nicki had gone through holding them back, each of them cautious, exploring one another. It sounded stupid even to himself, he knew he'd never be able to explain it to anyone, but that was the way it was, and now the caution was stripped away, because they each loved one another and nothing else mattered.

So, once Tom had texted Josh, and Josh had called him and passed the phone on to Finn, and Finn had yelled, "Congrats, Miss and Sir!" down the line, they finished their champagne, and then he led her upstairs and they went to bed together.

She didn't flinch when he ran his fingers along the scars on her back. He tickled her feet gently, and she laughed, a tinkly laugh, like Christmas bells in the darkness. The warmth of his body next to hers was the closest, Tom thought, that he'd ever get to heaven.

XxXxX

**I always give Tom and Nicki a hard time. I know this is incredibly soppy, but I thought they deserved a bit of happiness! Please review x**


	37. Chapter 37

**Since Sarah is hopeless and hasn't got round to writing the wedding (no, I'm kidding, I love her really) I decided I'd have to do it myself. I keep deciding to end Bleeding Love and then continuing it for a few more chapters; I'm sort of fond of writing it despite it being repetitive and out of character and the like. So anyway, this may or may not be the final chapter. Another massive thank you to everyone who has supported me in writing this story! x**

Chapter Thirty Seven | Bleeding Love

_Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light ~ Dumbledore (or J. , I suppose, who will always be an inspiration)_

"Oh shit, Nicki, I'm so nervous," Tom whispered down the phone.

He could hear raised, slightly-drunken voices echoing through into the bathroom from the main body of the pub. He sat hunched up on the toilet seat with the phone clutched to his ear, feeling a deep-seated queasiness that wasn't entirely associated with how much alcohol his friends had forced down his throat. Compared to the rest of them, he was sober.

"There's no need to be."

Her voice was a little more sing-song than usual, but she didn't sound out of her mind. He was glad of that; he didn't want to be marrying an alcoholic. Although he would have married Nicki if she was addicted to drink, drugs, gambling and sex with other men in posh hotel rooms.

Tom was sure it was supposed to be the woman who was more nervous the night before the wedding. He'd always been nervous about it, about all of the things that could go wrong, and yet Nicki hadn't seem apprehensive at all. She'd revelled in choosing her wedding dress (she'd refused to show him it, though) and her flowers and all of the snacks they were going to have afterwards. Smoked salmon on sticks; very classy.

"Best day of our lives, Tom. We can't waste it because we're a bit scared."

"You're not scared at all, are you? You're in your element."

"I'm–" she stopped. The sound went suddenly muffled, like she'd clasped a hand over the phone. "Yeah, I'll be out in a minute." Long pause. "Of course I'm not talking to him."

"Liar," Tom muttered.

"Lorraine will skin me alive if she finds out; she's very traditional about these things."

"Have you got all that sorted out? You know that rhyme everyone does for weddings, about the borrowed stuff or whatever?"

"Good to know you've done your research," she said dryly, "Yes, I've got it sorted. New thing is the shoes, borrowed thing is a necklace from Audrey, blue thing is the clip in my hair."

"You're going to look beautiful."

"Charmer. I was about to say the old thing is you, but I take it back."

They both laughed. Tom could hear the edge to her soft chuckle, and it relieved him to know that she wasn't entirely confident about tomorrow. Still, they'd have each other.

"Look, I'd really better go. Christine has got us all doing a quiz to keep her occupied so that she doesn't drink. Apparently it's the celebrity round, and Lorraine needs my input because she can't tell the difference between Ant and Dec. What planet has she been on?"

"Venus. Or is it Mars?" He wished he wasn't apart from her tonight. "I love you."

"I love you too. Try to get some sleep."

"Will do, Miss."

"Love you," she said again.

He sat with the phone against his ear for another few seconds after she'd hung up, and then he went to the sink to splash his face with cold water. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw what Josh had been talking about when he said his dad looked 'better' nowadays; there were less wrinkles on his forehead, less puffiness in his skin. It had been a long time since he'd been this happy. It was funny how these things came to you when you were no longer searching for them.

He went back into the bar, and was confronted with Grantly pulling down his pants in order to prove to Chalky that his buttocks were indeed nicer than Michael's. He could only hope that he was sufficiently drunk to remember none of this by morning.

XxXxX

Tom forced himself not to turn around when he heard everyone stand up. Michael was giving her away, which was kind of suitable, given that he'd turned her life around by offering her the job. If she hadn't joined _Waterloo Road_– well, Tom tried not to dwell on what could have happened. He was deliriously happy that Nicki had realised she didn't need to end her life.

She reached his side, and he turned to face her. She threw back the veil, and she was beautiful. Her hair was wavy and held up from her face with the blue clip she'd promised him, her dress long and white and yet not ridiculously flowery like women sometimes chose, just simple, and with a bow around her waist that accentuated her figure more than he'd imagined possible.

The vows were a blur; he was focusing on remaining upright. He could feel the collective gaze of the congregation on him, silently urging him on. Given the part that the children had played in their relationship, it had only seemed fair that they let them attend the wedding; he could see Scout and Rhiannon out of the corner of his eye, and of course Josh and Finn in the front row, wearing matching tartan bow ties and grinning proudly.

Finally they got to the kiss, and he just leant in and kissed her. Nothing bad happened, nobody bursting in through the front door to demand the wedding was stopped, nobody fainting in the pews. It was perfect, more heavenly than the night of the proposal. The congregation made 'aw' and 'ooh' noises as Tom pulled her closer and kissed her again.

"I love you," he whispered, when they finally pulled apart.

"Can we just stay like this forever?"

"No. They're all hungry for the salmon thingies."

Nicki's laughter tickled his ear. "Bugger the salmon things."

Tom took Nicki's arm and led her down the aisle, his nerves gone now, and when they reached the door they stepped out into the sunlight and Tom felt the confetti on his cheeks and knew that this would be a moment imprinted on his mind forever.

XxXxX

**Alright, I might just be tempted to write a wedding reception chapter at some point, I suppose.**


	38. The End

Sarah (Never-Clip-My-Wings-X) has written an alternative wedding for this fic, which puts me to shame, and fits in if you imagine it follows straight on from Chapter 36, so really it's a double whammy for anyone who's still reading.

This really is the final chapter now (except for Sarah's). Thank you to everyone who's read _Bleeding Love_ for all this time. Please leave a review! x

**The Final Chapter**

**I don't care what they say, I'm in love with you,  
>They try to pull me away but they don't know the truth,<br>My heart's crippled by the vein that I keep on closing  
>~ Leona Lewis, <strong>_**Bleeding Love**_

Once they'd managed to ferry the congregation away to the coach waiting to take them to the reception – "We'll just be a minute" – Tom sat down on the graveyard wall and pulled Nicki onto his knee, wrapping his arms around her waist and inhaling her warmth.

"Careful," she lectured, straightening her dress. He dug a finger gently into her side and she giggled and turned to kiss him. He could no longer feel her ribs protruding as he ran his hands over her body; she was still slim, the lucky bugger, but not worrying so any more.

"Shouldn't you save your energy for tonight?"

"What are you proposing, Missy?" he ran his fingers through her hair tenderly, then cupped her chin in his palm and pulled her towards him again, kissing her until they'd sucked all of the breath from inside one another.

"Well, a bit of eating, a bit of dancing, a bit more eating. We'd probably better do a bit of socialising, unfortunately," she said, "And maybe, if you've not collapsed by that point, a bit of something naughty."

"Oh, I really must reserve my energy, then. I wouldn't miss us doing something naughty for the world."

"Dad," Josh called from the gate, "Hurry up, the bus driver's getting really upset. Apparently you're three minutes late already and he's on a tight schedule. I think he might have OCD or something."

"Maybe he's just drunk," Tom muttered, "It'd be just our luck for the bus to crash into a ditch before we'd even had our first night together as a married couple."

Nicki slipped down from his knee and took his hands to pull him up off the wall, "I love you, you know."

This was the moment when he said 'I love you too' rather than 'I know'. "I know."

She hit him playfully and linked her arm through his as they walked down the ramp towards the bus. The bus driver seemed to be using an inhaler, and wisps of smoke were leaking out of the door from the sheer amount of party poppers Scout had used. It wouldn't be a Waterloo Road wedding without all of this, would it? And Waterloo Road was what had brought them together, so it was fitting.

He helped Nicki onto the bus and she leant down to kiss his cheek before he climbed on too. Her hand was cool in his; not creepy-cool like doctors' hands often were, when you wondered if they'd just finished examining dead bodies, but nice-cool. Everyone cheered again as they made their way down the bus aisle and settled themselves on the back seats of the bus. Why bother with a fancy car when you could have a bus which had been spray-painted with 'Tom & Nicki 4eva' and a rather lopsided attempt at a stick couple holding hands to transport you instead?

"I'm looking forward to those salmon thingies now," Tom told her, "To keep up my energy and all that."

"Mm, do you think there'll be any chocolate fingers?"

"We're having a buffet with all of the food you could possibly wish for – trifle and cheese straws and strawberry tarts and–"

"And salmon thingies," Nicki added helpfully.

"And salmon thingies – and you're asking about chocolate fingers?"

"Yeah. And that's why you're marrying me."

"Oh, there are a whole host of other reasons why I'm marrying you. Some of them might not be fit for public consumption."

Josh, sitting in the row in front, stuck his head through the crack between two seats and rolled his eyes at them, "You two have just got married and you're arguing about food already. Typical. I'm going to have to soundproof my bedroom or you'll drive me mad deciding what you're going to have for dinner each night."

"You don't really mind me living with you, do you, Josh?"

"I don't have a lot of choice now."

"Oi, cheeky," Nicki stuck her wrist through the gap (skinny wrists, too, Tom's would never have fitted) and ruffled his hair; he wriggled away, grinning and mumbling something about wicked stepmothers.

Everyone piled off the bus once they reached the hotel, squealing about trying to sneak into the spa for free (Janeece) or grumbling about whether there was anywhere in this wretched place where someone could get peace (Grantly). The bus driver climbed down the steps shakily; they watched him out of the window as he took a couple of gulps from his inhaler, before taking a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and smoking as though his heart depended on it. Only in Rochdale.

"You ready, then?" Nicki asked softly.

"Oh, I'm never ready to deal with these lot."

"Just think about afterwards when the going gets tough."

"What, once we go to the bedroom, you mean?" he asked, feigning innocence as she leant into him and he kissed the top of her head, causing some strands of her hair to come free of their fastenings and fall down over her face. She looked even more beautiful like that, her vulnerability shining through, the imperfect. Because they were all imperfect, and he loved her for her flaws; love was like that, it was all encompassing.

Jesus, he wasn't even drunk yet and he was already throwing cringey clichés around like Cupid's arrows.

She held out her hands to him and he slipped his fingers between hers. The scars on her wrists were visible, like this, little worms that had once buried into her and forced themselves inside her heart. Now she was healing again, but the scars would always be there, they'd always be a reminder of her suffering. It was good to be reminded, sometimes, so that you didn't forget the things – the places, the people, the memories – that had made you. Without Jess and Lucy and Kieran and her parents, without Waterloo Road, Nicki would not have become to the person she was today.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you too, baby."

They hugged, and stayed locked together for a long time, until Nicki carefully extracted herself from his embrace.

"We should probably–" she nodded towards the front of the bus.

"Do we have to?"

"They'll have salmon thingies."

"Oh, go on, then."

Tom's heart swelled with pride for the person he loved more than anything in the world aside from his son, and for how much she'd changed. He remembered carrying Nicki from the toilets all of those months ago, the way her watery blue eyes had begged him to help her, his heart breaking for the pain she was in. He remembered the tears that had been shed by each of them throughout their friendship, the times he'd thought that they could never be together, that it was just too difficult. He remembered the first time they'd kissed.

And he thought that it was worth it, all of the terrible things they'd been through together, to get to this point.

"I don't care what they say," Nicki whispered, "I'm in love with you."

"Oh, aren't you romantic, Boston? Irresistibly so," he mumbled into her hair, unable to stop himself from grinning like a monkey presented with a crate full of bananas for his birthday, "Hang on, is that from a song?"

She nodded apologetically, "I was hoping you wouldn't realise."

"I thought it was all a little bit too good to be true."

They climbed off the bus and Tom caught her by surprise, wrapping his arms around her waist and spinning her round in front of the hotel so that her dress spun out around them like they were performing a Russian ballet. When he finally put her down he realised that he could barely breathe; Nicki, her confetti-littered hair now spilling down around her face, flushed with laughter as he bent over, gulping in air.

"I'm not _that_ heavy."

"No. You're _that _beautiful, though." He didn't give a damn how cheesy it sounded any more. It was true. "You're the most beautiful girl in the world."

"Agreed," the bus driver wheezed between stamping on one cigarette and taking another from the nearly-empty packet, his eyes settling on Nicki's chest and remaining there, "Listen, love, I don't suppose there's any of those little salmon thingies going spare inside? Perhaps a bit of wine?"

Nicki mouthed 'oh, God' at Tom. He smirked, then took his wife's hand and led her inside to join the chaos that was Waterloo Road at a party. There was genuinely nowhere else in the world he'd rather be.

**THE END**


	39. The Wolf is Getting Married

**This is an alternative ending called 'The Wolf is Getting Married', written by the wonderful Never-Clip-My-Wings-x, which fits in after Chapter 36 of Bleeding Love.**

_Build your dreams_

_To stars above,_

_But when you need_

_Someone to love,_

_Don't go to strangers_

_My darling,_

_Come to me._

– Don't Go To Strangers

"Do not pity the dead. Pity the living, and above all, all those who live without love."

Christ, he'd been married before, but he sure as hell hadn't been this nervous before. And last time, he'd been in love with his wife-to-be's best friend.

It was two in the morning, and Tom was still pacing around his hotel room nervously, despite the copious amounts of alcohol he'd consumed that evening. Bloody hell, in eight hours she'd be walking down the aisle, as he stood at the front of the church, probably praying that he wouldn't pass out at any point during the ceremony, or that she wouldn't think better of it and run for her life.

Josh would, technically, be his best man – he felt it was too dangerous to ask a colleague, such as the ever-disorganised Grantly or the bumbling Chalky, and his best and oldest friend, Andy, a soldier, would probably pretend to lose the ring just to give him a heart attack. Instead, he'd put Andy in charge of herding all the guests into the church – an appointment which would almost doubtless mean that half of the town, known to the bride and groom or not, would be let in. Andy and Josh were to share the title of "Best Men", but Andy was the one who would be making the speech at the reception, much to Tom's horror.

Nicki had chosen two bridesmaids – Hannah, one of her colleagues from the Army, and Leanne, Hannah's daughter, who was about to follow her mother into the services after finishing her degree in Chemistry at Edinburgh. Andy had been infinitely chuffed upon discovering that he was to take Hannah down the aisle (Tom really wasn't looking forward to his inevitably terrible flirting), while Josh and Leanne would walk alongside each other. Chlo and Mika would be behind them, along with Donte and Brett, all of whom were sharing the responsibility of being ushers - they were supposed to direct people to their seats, although Tom was pretty sure this wouldn't actually happen.

Tom was running the entire ceremony through in his head as he stood at the window, looking out into the night. From his hotel room, he could just make out an avenue lined with full, leafy trees, vaguely illuminated by streetlights, and the midnight blue sky was dotted with tiny stars. His phone beeped, and he must have jumped a foot in the air at the sound of his ringtone (who knew that ducks could possibly sound so terrifying?!). Picking up his mobile, he tried to focus his eyes on the screen, assuming that it would be a sarcastic line from Josh or Andy. His eyes suddenly caught the sender of the text – Nicki. His eyes shot open, and he clicked 'read' with trepidation.

"Are you awake?"

He breathed a sigh of relief as he hastily typed a response with very little thought;

"Yeah, are you?"

He clicked 'send' before realising that yes, she was blindingly-bloody-obviously awake, or she wouldn't have just texted him. He could just see her now; rolling her eyes, smiling and shaking her head at him as she read the text.

"No, I'm sleep-texting. Nervous? I am. Terrified, actually."

"Very funny. Yep, I'm definitely nervous. I think it's meant to be a good sign."

"Mmm. Hope so. I miss you."

"Miss you too. Get some sleep, now. Love you. X" Bloody hell, he felt incredibly soppy sending that.

"Love you too. Xx"

Saturday morning. 9am. Bloody terrified.

He'd been ready for an hour, awake for three. He'd finally fallen asleep around 3am, with Nicki having phoned him from the balcony of her hotel room at half two, whispering so as to avoid waking her friends and bridesmaids up and risking being put under some form of arrest for talking to her fiancée. He could tell that she was nervous by the way her voice shook slightly, where it was usually smooth and self-assured. He thought of her right until he fell asleep, and vice versa.

Andy had spent half an hour straightening his tie, having been informed from his 'sources' that Hannah was partial to the well-dressed gentleman, and was currently busy trying to understand how a particularly confusing bottle of aftershave dispensed the liquid. Tom was entirely lost as to how he'd ever outwitted anyone.

Josh was lazily picking apart a croissant, watching his dad pace the room, and his best friend try to make himself look more presentable (and less hungover) with mild amusement. In three hours, he realised, his English teacher would be his stepmum – and he was strangely alright with that. His dad loved her, which, although a little odd, made him happy.

A couple of miles away in Nicki's hotel room, all was even less calm than it was in her fiancé's hotel.

The scene was absolute chaos – the bride to be was sat on her bed with her bridesmaids, surrounded by a sea of makeup and hair products. Leanne was wielding a foundation brush dangerously, a bottle of foundation in the other hand, telling Nicki to stay still while she painted the pigment lightly onto her skin. Chlo was sat behind Nicki with at least an entire packet of hair grips in her mouth, trying to comb Nicki's thick, unruly hair into a vaguely shaped chignon, and cursing as every tendril sprung back out of the hair grips pinning it to her head. Hannah was watching, sat at the end of the bed, her eyes slightly unnerving Nicki as they watched her every action, and Mika was arranging all the bridesmaids dresses on the bed between Hannah and Nicki.

Leanne was smoothing the foundation over Nicki's skin with her pale hands, then set about powdering her makeup into place. Nicki crinkled her nose at the feeling of the brush against her skin, as Chlo finally succeeded in pinning a strand of her hair in the intended place, and made some sort of celebratory shouting noise.

"You nervous?" Leanne asked, throwing her long black hair behind her shoulder as she picked up a small pot of black eyeshadow and a dangerous looking brush, pointing it at Nicki.

Nicki nodded, pressing her lips together, "Yeah, I suppose so. I was more nervous last night, really." It was awkward to make conversation at such a moment, but she thought she'd better try.

"It's him that should be nervous, marrying you." Hannah observed in what Nicki knew wasn't actually a particularly sarcastic tone. She laughed, and ended up almost having her eye poked out by Leanne's eyeshadow brush, which was dangerously close to her eyeball.

Her wedding dress was hung on the edge of the wardrobe; simple and elegant, with a loose, Grecian top and beaded waistband. The simple ivory fabric just brushed the cream carpet in the hotel room, on which sat a grey box containing her shoes, which had cost a small fortune. Her bridesmaids had coerced her into buying them in ways Nicki wasn't entirely sure of.

Something old – Her diamond and silver bracelet, given to her by her sister more years ago than she could remember.

Something new – The earrings Tom had bought her for her birthday; fine silver chain drops with tiny diamonds at the ends.

Something borrowed – Hannah's incredibly expensive brooch, used to pin her veil back so as it didn't blow forwards into her face. Nicki dreaded to think how much it had cost.

Something blue – Well, she didn't have anything blue, really. Her eyes, perhaps, and Tom's. She closed her eyes as Leanne carefully applied blusher to the apples of her cheeks, and thought of her fiancé's eyes; the eyes she wanted to see first thing in the morning and last thing at night for the rest of her life. Her flowers – they were blue, she realised. His tie was midnight blue, too, as were the dresses of the bridesmaids, and the ties of the best men and ushers.

As she opened her eyes, all four other women grinned as if they were young teenagers just experimenting with make-up on their friend. Nicki worried for a split-second that they'd applied electric blue eyeshadow as blusher, but a quick glance in the mirror pacified her fears – and bloody hell, she thought, she actually did look nice. She smiled at her best friend, who had hurried over to the wardrobe to pick up Nicki's dress, and was now spinning madly around the hotel room holding it to her body as if she was dancing with it.

Nicki was still in her pyjamas, which consisted of a pair of leopard print bottoms which she thought she'd had for at least a decade, and Tom's grey t-shirt which she'd somehow obtained over however long it was they'd lived together. It smelt of him still, and when she thought nobody was looking, she sniffed the hem of the soft grey fabric; inhaling and smiling to herself, unaware that her bridesmaids were looking at each other and smiling at the sight of Nicki sniffing her fiancé's t-shirt.

"Right, let's get you dressed." Hannah said, placing the dress on the unmade bed in the centre of the room, next to those of the bridesmaids. The contrast between the colours of the fabrics looked spectacular; midnight blue against ivory. It was almost as if they were the night sky and Nicki was some kind of star in it, simple yet bright and blinding.

Nicki nodded at her best friend, looking out of the window dreamily for a couple of seconds before uncrossing her legs and standing up to get dressed.

She was wearing a sodding garter band. A ruddy bloody garter band. She was going to kill her friends, after she was back from her honeymoon.

Just as she had been about to leave her hotel room, the door had opened, and Christine, Lorraine and Audrey tumbled in along with Hannah and Leanne. She'd known it couldn't be an innocent visit by her colleagues and friends, and was utterly dreading what they'd brought with them.

They'd all fallen onto the bead laughing for no apparent reason, and after they'd managed to calm themselves down, Nicki stood with her hands on her hips in front of them as if addressing a bunch of pupils.

"What have you done?" she asked, dreading their response.

"We bought you a present," Christine giggled, and had she not known better, Nicki would have thought she was drunk, "Or should we say, we bought Tom a present, which will be presented on you."

Nicki raised one eyebrow, wincing as a package was produced from someone's bag and thrown haphazardly at her face, which she just about caught in time. What the package contained made the blusher Leanne had carefully applied to her skin entirely unnecessary.

A lace garter band with a satin ribbon was pinned to a midnight blue satin backing, and Nicki could only imagine what her face must have looked like when she managed to unpin the garment from the casing and held it up one-handed in front of her.

And, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she had been entirely speechless.

"Go on, put it on!" Lorraine practically screamed from the bed.

"I am not putting a sodding garter band on."

"Fine," Hannah had said, getting up as if that was the end of the matter, then pausing just as she was a foot or so away from Nicki, "I'll put it on for you."

And somehow, after much argument and running around the hotel room, Nicki had wound up with the garter belt around her thigh, and was now sat in the car which was taking her and her bridesmaids (two of whom she was very close to killing) to the church.

At least it was blue, she supposed.

Tom was waiting with Andy and Josh at the front of the church (which, as predicted, Andy had let absolutely everyone into), waiting for Nicki. She'd probably thought better of it and left while she could, he thought to himself, but shook himself out of it, because he knew he'd be a nervous wreck by the time she actually did turn up.

He'd just got around to wondering how it was that Jesus had a six-pack at his age, when he realised that the whole congregation was now stood up. Shit, she's here.

He spun round as Josh and Andy went to meet Leanne and Hannah, and tried as best as he could to see Nicki through the congregation and the bridesmaids, but succeeded only in catching a quick glimpse of her veil.

Andy and Hannah began to walk down the aisle, the former grinning like a Cheshire cat on drugs as he took Hannah's lightly tanned, toned arm in his and led her towards the front. Josh and Leanne followed them, Josh slightly adjusting his suit as he took the arm of his friend and they followed Andy and Hannah in the procession. After them, Chlo and Mika walked with Donte and Brett respectively, and in that moment it hit Tom just how grateful he was for his friends and family. The bridesmaids' dresses were long, midnight blue chiffon, as were the men's ties, with pleated bodices and flowing skirts down to the floor, and all four carried them off easily, with their tall, slim figures. No wonder Andy looked so chuffed, Tom thought, but he only had eyes for the last woman to make her way down that aisle; Nicki.

She was stood at the entrance to the church, looking ever-perfect. He couldn't quite make out her facial expression through the crowd of people craning their necks to see, but bloody hell, she'd still look gorgeous wearing a white bin bag. He knew that Michael was giving her away, but couldn't see him either – bloody hell, he should have brought some binoculars.

He finally managed to see her when she got halfway down the aisle, and Christ, she looked gorgeous. Eyes followed her as she made her way down the aisle with Michael, her simple dress loose on her chest and fitted on her perfectly flat, toned stomach. Michael looked incomprehensibly proud of her, as if he was actually her father – thinking about it, he was probably more of a father to her than her biological father ever had been.

She smiled nervously through her veil as she reached the front of the church, and Michael kissed her on the cheek before smiling at Tom and going to stand next to Christine on the second row, who smiled at Tom and Nicki more soberly than Tom could ever remember her doing. Hell, Nicki even managed to smile at her, which was a surprise considering how frosty relations had historically been between the two women.

Nicki then turned back to Tom, and he managed not to faint as she pushed the lace-edged veil back, and it suddenly hit him just how utterly gorgeous she truly was.

Her lightly tanned, soft skin had very little makeup on, but she had black eye shadow smudged on her upper lash line, where her long, black eyelashes curled upwards softly, opening her incredibly deep blue eyes. He knew the precise colour of them; aqua blue with green flecks in the centre, grey further out, and deep, sapphire blue at the very edge. Bloody hell, he dreamed of those eyes, their enchanting depth, warmth and gleam.

She looked perfect – even more so than she ever had done before. She'd put weight on since she'd started to get better – her arms were toned and, he knew, the rest of her beautiful body had become more muscular than skinny as it once was.

"You look incredible." He managed to murmur, stumbling over his words as if he was a teenager on a date with the prettiest girl in the school. Christ, he felt like a teenager on a first date. He was almost convinced that he'd say the wrong words, or fall over, or tread on her dress.

She just smiled in response, in all her perfectness. He could see she was nervous (albeit probably not as nervous as he was) – she was biting her lower lip ever so slightly as the vicar began to speak. He remained convinced, as he had been when he was a child, that all vicars were clones of each other – they all seemed to have the same droning voice, and looked like what he knew Grantly would call a "right knit-your-own-yoghurt type".

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, we are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the joining of Thomas and Nicola in marriage. With love and commitment, they have decided to live their lives together as husband and wife." Tom shot Nicki a look at the exact same time she glanced at him, trying not to laugh. She knew how much he hated people using his full name – she'd taken to calling him by it if he hadn't done the washing up, which seemed to get the job done efficiently.

"If any person present knows of any just impediment to this marriage, they should declare it now."

There was a deafening, terrifying silence in the church in the pause after the statement, in which the bride and groom glanced at each other in almost trepidation. The silence was broken only by a guest hiccupping a few rows back – Tom's top suspect was Steph Haydock, who was sat with Grantly and several other former members of staff, including Ruby and Matt. He was almost convinced that they'd be scraping them off the floor come the end of the reception.

"True marriage is more than joining the bonds of marriage of two persons; it is the union of two hearts. It lives on the love you give each other and never grows old, but thrives on the joy of each new day. Marriage is love. May you always be able to talk things over, to confide in each other, to laugh with each other, to enjoy life together, and to share moments of quiet and peace, when the day is done. May you be blessed with a lifetime of happiness and a home of warmth and understanding." The vicar continued, waving his hands around dramatically, leading to Tom worrying that he might knock over one of the twenty million candles he had adorning the altar and set the entire church on fire. It'd be just his luck – the campest vicar they could have possibly found knocking over a candle better suited to a hypnotist's studio and the whole wedding going up in smoke.

"Do you, Nicola, take Thomas to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do you part?"

"I do." She responded, and he could hear a slight waver in her voice as she did. There were tears in her gorgeously clear eyes as the words came from her lips, and he squeezed her hand with his, and she smiled gently as he did so.

"And do you, Thomas, take Nicola to be your wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do you part?"

"I do." He answered, and felt the tears come to his eyes, too. Jesus Christ, he wasn't good at this whole emotional lark.

"And now, the exchange of rings. Leanne and Joshua, may I have the rings, please?" Tom was partially surprised to see Josh actually respond to his full name, as the two teenagers came forward with the rings held in their hands.

The exchange went in a blur, and before he knew it, the vicar was declaring their marriage to their family and friends (and assorted strangers who'd been led into the church by the best men and the ushers).

"I hereby pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss."

His heart must have been beating faster than that of a hummingbird as their lips finally met, and the church and their surroundings seemed to melt away as they were entirely lost in each other for those few seconds. They broke the kiss to rapturous applause from their friends and family, including several wolf whistles from the various parts of the church in which the students had been allocated.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you for the first time; Thomas and Nicola Clarkson."

It seemed like hours that they were stood outside the church talking to various guests, including several people neither thought they'd ever seen before, but appeared to know the couple disturbingly well.

Scout had come up and hugged both of them rather overenthusiastically, declaring the two to be her "fave teachers ever", and enquiring as to the nature of the food that would be served at the reception later on.

People eventually began to depart for the reception in the hotel, until it was just the bride and groom, the best men, and two bridesmaids left. Hannah seemed to be warming to Andy's slightly insane manner, and had allowed him to keep his arm around her shoulder for the past five minutes (although she claimed this was on the basis that it was "bloody freezing"). Leanne and Josh were discussing a band that nobody else had ever heard of, and the four of them eventually decided to take the cars to the reception and leave Tom and Nicki alone together for a while.

Tom took his wife's hand (he couldn't get used to calling her his wife; it felt so alien), and they walked round to the graveyard at the back of the church where Jess and her daughter were buried. Nicki had thrown her bouquet outside the church, which, after landing on Grantly's head, was caught by Christine. For the second time that day, Tom had been surprised to see the two women exchange warm smiles.

Nicki had kept two roses back, however, and as Tom led her over to her sister's grave, she untied the small piece of ribbon binding them together. In front of the gravestones, she placed the roses, murmuring something to both of them that Tom couldn't quite make out, and he went to walk away and give her some privacy. Before he could, his wife managed to catch hold of his hand and stop him in his tracks, and he could see the tears in her gorgeous, deep eyes again. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head as she held onto him, her elegant hands placed on his shoulder blades.

"We'd better go." she stated, untangling her arms from his body and taking his hand. They made their way slowly through the graveyard to where the car was waiting, the driver looking non-too-impressed that they'd kept him waiting for an extra five minutes. He helped her in, then sat down next to her on the cream leather seat in the back of the car, putting an arm around his wife as they were driven off to their reception.

**A second and final part will be uploaded in due course, if we manage to sort out our formatting difficulties again. Massive thanks to Sarah for all her support during the time I was writing Bleeding Love, and of course for writing this x**


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